and she was content to take her love as a gift of grace, which began just
where the office of reason ended. She was more than ever, to-day, in this
mood of charmed surrender. More than ever he seemed the keynote of the
accord between herself and life, the centre of a delightful complicity in
every surrounding circumstance. One could not look at him without seeing
that there was always a fair wind in his sails.

It was carrying him toward her, as usual, at a quick confident pace,
which nevertheless lagged a little, she noticed, as he emerged from the
beech-grove and struck across the lawn. He walked as though he were tired.
She had meant to wait for him on the terrace, held in check by her usual
inclination to linger on the threshold of her pleasures; but now something
drew her toward him, and she went quickly down the steps and across the
lawn.

"Denis, you look tired. I was afraid something had happened."

She had slipped her hand through his arm, and as they moved forward she
glanced up at him, struck not so much by any new look in his face as by the
fact that her approach had made no change in it.

"I am rather tired.--Is your father in?"

"Papa?" She looked up in surprise. "He went to town yesterday. Don't you
remember?"

"Of course--I'd forgotten. You're alone, then?" She dropped his arm and
stood before him. He was very pale now, with the furrowed look of extreme
physical weariness.