subject with almost petulant
abruptness.

* * * * *

But, on this their last evening together, the piano stood unheeded. They
seemed only to want two chairs, and each other.

She could hardly take her eyes from his face, remembering how many
months must pass before she could see him again. Yet it was Ronnie who
made moan, and Helen who bravely comforted; turning as often as possible
to earnest discussion of his plot and its possibilities. But after a
while even she went under, to the thought of the nearness of the
parting.

Though it was late in April, the evenings were chilly; a fire glowed in
the grate.

Presently Ronnie rose, turned off the electric light, and seated himself
on the rug in the firelight, resting his head against his wife's knees.

Silently she passed her fingers through his hair.

Something in the quality of her silence turned Ronald's thoughts from
himself to her alone. "Helen," he said, "I hate to be leaving you. Shall
you be very lonely?"

She could not answer.

"You are sure your good old Mademoiselle Victorine is coming to be with
you?"

"Yes, dear. She holds herself in readiness to come as soon as I feel
able to send for her. She and I lived alone together here during
eighteen months, after Papa's death. We were very quietly happy. I do
not see why we should not be happy again."

"What shall you do all day?"

"Well, I shall have my duties in the village and on the estate; and, for
our recreation, we shall read French and German, and do plenty of music.
Mademoiselle Victorine delights in playing what she calls '_des a quatre
mains_,' which consist in our both prancing vigorously upon the same
piano; she steadily punishing the bass; while I fly after her, on the
more lively treble. It is good practice; it has its fascinations, and it
will take the place of riding, for me."

"Shan't you ride, Helen?"

"No, Ronnie; not without you."

"Will you and Mademoiselle Victorine drive your four-in-hands in here?"

"No, not in here, darling. I don't think I shall be able to bear to
touch the piano on which you play to me."

"I don't play," said Ronnie. "I strum."

"True, dear. You often strum. But sometimes you play quite wonderfully.
I wish you had been properly taught!"

"I always hated being taught anything," said Ronald. "I like doing
things, without learning to do them. And I know what you mean, about the
times when I really play. But, excepting w