in to move directly I come back, don't they? Is there any
news in the neighborhood?"

I told her my little budget, sketching it in as lightly as I could and
with as little reference to herself. She fastened on the news about
Eunice Aspenick.

"Grown up, of course, by now, isn't she? And you say she's pretty. Very
pretty?"

"Not so very, in my judgment. Very fresh and healthy, and rather
handsome."

Jenny smiled mysteriously. "Oh, that doesn't matter--if it comes to no
more than that," she said contemptuously. She saw me smiling. "Oh, yes,
I'm scheming again!" she declared with a laugh. "Not for myself, though.
I've done with schemes about myself."

"At five-and-twenty?"

Jenny grew grave. "Things count, not years--or, anyhow, sooner than
years. Have I any friends left?"

She smiled again when I told her of Lady Aspenick's faction, and how
Lady Aspenick still used the road. "Come, that's not so bad," was her
comment, rather playfully than seriously given. "And you ask me no
questions?" she said the next moment, rather abruptly.

"No, I don't want to ask you any questions. I was very much grieved for
him."

She nodded. "When I went away with him," she said, "I burned my boats. I
wanted them burned, Austin. I was so sick of doubts--and of tricks and
maneuvers. Recklessness seemed fine; and everything seemed to have gone
out of the world--except me and him. There was some business to be done
and I did it--with the surface of my mind; it made no real part of my
thoughts. There I was all hatred for what I had been doing--yes, and
horrible hatred of having been found out--I'd better be frank about
that. I'd been tricking--I wanted to defy. Leonard didn't mind defying
either, did he? That lasted a week--ten days, perhaps. Then the old
thing came back--the fear of him, the fear of it. I couldn't help
it--it's so deep in my blood, Austin. He told me I ought to marry him
for my own sake--for his own he was indifferent. I think he really was.
I was terribly afraid but, as you must know from the papers, I agreed,
and everything was in train when--he died. That was my fault partly--but
only partly. The young man did--make a mistake about me--but he
apologized most humbly and courteously. But Leonard wouldn't take it
properly, and picked a quarrel with him the next evening."

"Then it doesn't seem to have been your fault."

"My being--vulnerable--made Leonard more, even more, than usually
aggressive. That's all. They br