ched Bramhurst and drew up before the
one ancient inn the place possessed. Upstairs, in a lattice-windowed room
with sloping floor and bulging ceiling, a room that was full of the scent
of honeysuckle, Anne washed away the dust of the road. Turning to the
mirror on the dressing-table when this was over, she stood a moment
wide-eyed, startled. Through her mind there swept again the memory of a
day that seemed very far away--a day begun in sunshine and ended in
storm, a day when she had looked into the eyes of a white-faced woman in
the glass and had shrunk away in fear. It was a very different vision
that now met her gaze, and yet she had a feeling that there was something
in it that remained unaltered. Was it in the eyes that shone from a face
so radiant that it might have been the face of a girl?

She could not have said. Only after that one brief glimpse she
looked no more.

Descending, she found Nap waiting for her in the oak-beamed coffee-room.
He made her sit facing the open window, looking forth upon hill and
forest and shallow winding river.

The stout old English waiter who attended to their wants very
speedily withdrew.

"He thinks we are on our wedding-trip," said Nap.

She glanced at him sharply.

"Yes, I let him have it so," he returned. "I never destroy a pretty
illusion if I can help it."

"What time do we start back?" said Anne, aware of burning cheeks, which
he was studying with undisguised amusement.

"Would you like some ice?" he suggested.

She laughed, with something of an effort. "Don't be ridiculous, Nap!"

"I am sure you have never done anything so improper in all your life
before," he went on. "What must it feel like? P'r'aps you would have
preferred me to explain the situation to him in detail? I will have him
in and do it now--if you really think it worth while. I shouldn't myself,
but then I seldom suffer from truthfulness in its most acute form. It's a
tiresome disease, isn't it? One might almost call it dashed inconvenient
on an occasion such as this. There is only one remedy that I can suggest,
and that is to pretend it's true."

"I am not good at pretending," Anne answered gravely.

He laughed. "Very true, O Queen! Horribly true! But I am, you know, a
positive genius in that respect. So I'm going to pretend I'm an
Englishman--of the worthy, thick-headed, bulldog breed. (I am sure you
admire it; you wouldn't be an Englishwoman if you didn't). And you are my
devoted and adorab