spring, and the spring was almost gone when she returned; and, with her
return, Catastrophe lifted its head in the person of Denzil.

Perhaps it was imperative instinct that brought Junia back in an hour
coincident with Carnac's return--perhaps. In any case, there it was.
They had both returned, as it were, in the self-same hour, each having
endured a phase of emotion not easy to put on paper.

Denzil told her of Carnac's return, and she went to the house where
Carnac's mother lived, and was depressed at what she saw and felt. Mrs.
Grier's face was not that of one who had good news. The long arms almost
hurt when they embraced her. Yet Carnac was a subject of talk between
them--open, clear eyed talk. The woman did not know what to say, except
to praise her boy, and the girl asked questions cheerfully, unimportantly
as to sound, but with every nerve tingling. There was, however, so much
of the comedienne in her, so much coquetry, that only one who knew her
well could have seen the things that troubled her behind all. As though
to punish herself, she began to speak of Tarboe, and Mrs. Grier's face
clouded; she spoke more of Tarboe, and the gloom deepened. Then, with
the mask of coquetry still upon her she left Carnac's mother abashed,
sorrowful and alone.

Tarboe had called in her absence. Entering the garden, he saw Denzil at
work. At the click of the gate Denzil turned, and came forward.

"She ain't home," he said bluntly. "She's out. She ain't here. She's
up at Mr. Grier's house, bien sur."

To Tarboe Denzil's words were offensive. It was none of Denzil's
business whether he came or went in this house, or what his relations