n obedience to Madame Beattie,
but she meant at least to give Jeff his chance. And as she thought, she
was walking home fast, and when she got there she hurried into the
library without taking off her hat, and asked the colonel:

"Where's Jeff?"

The colonel was sitting by the fire, a book in his hand in the most
correct position for reading. He had been deep in one of his friendly
little naps and had picked the book up when he heard her step and held
it with a convincing rigour.

"He's gone off for a tramp," said he, looking at her sleepily. "He'd
been writing and didn't feel very fit. I advised him to go and make a
day of it."

Anne came in then, and Lydia stared at her, wondering if Anne could
help. And yet, whatever Anne said, she was determined not to tell Jeff
until the morning. So she slowly took off her things and made brisk
tasks to do about the house. Only when the two o'clock train was nearly
due she seized her hat and pinned it on, slipped into her coat and
walked breathlessly to the station. She was there just before the train
came in and there also, a fine figure in his excellently fitting
clothes, was Reardon. He was walking the platform, nervously Lydia
thought, but he seemed not to be waiting for any one. Seeing her he
looked, though she might have fancied it, momentarily disconcerted, but
took off his hat to her and turned immediately to resume his march.
Suppose Esther came, Lydia wondered. What should she do? Should she stop
her, block her way, bid her remember Jeff? Or should she watch her to
the last flutter of her hatefully pretty clothes as she entered the car
with Reardon and, in the noise of the departing train, give one loud
hurrah because Jeff was going to be free? But the train came, and
Reardon, without a glance behind, though in a curious haste as if he
wanted at least to escape Lydia's eyes, entered and was taken away.

Again Lydia went home, and now she sat by the fire and could not talk,
her elbows on her knee, her chin supported in her hands.

"What is it?" Anne asked her. "You look mumpy."

Yes, Lydia, said, she was mumpy. She thought she had a cold. But though
Anne wanted to minister to her she was not allowed, and Lydia sat there
and watched the clock. At the early dark she grew restless.

"Farvie," said she, "shouldn't you think Jeff would come?"

"Why, no," said he, looking at her over his glasses, doing the
benevolent act, Lydia called it. "There's a moon, and he'll pro