As they walked through the doctor's study, Mrs.
Cavendish preceding them, Jane lingered for a
moment and gave a hurried glance about her. There
stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown
himself so often when tired out. There, too, was the
closet where he hung his coat and hat, and the desk
covered with books and papers. A certain feeling
of reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession
of her, as when one enters a sanctuary in the
absence of the priest. For an instant she passed her
hand gently over the leather back of the chair where
his head rested, smoothing it with her fingers. Then
her eyes wandered over the room, noting each appointment
in detail. Suddenly a sense of injustice
rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of
beauty had ever been added to these plain surroundings;
even the plants in the boxes by the windows
looked half faded. With a quick glance at the open
door she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand,
leaned over, and with the feeling of a devotee laying
an offering on the altar, placed the flower hurried
on the doctor's slate. Then she joined Mrs. Cavendish.

Lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every
now and then turned to the sea. When she and
Jane had reached the cross-road that branched off
toward the beach--it ran within sight of Mrs. Cavendish's
windows--Lucy said:

"The afternoon is so lovely I'm not going to pay