be cynical--I didn't, really. I only
spoke from what I've seen."

"Seen?" said Gregory. "If I were to go by what I saw daily, hourly, in
London in the course of my work I should commit suicide within a week."

"But what else can one go by?"

Without answering, Gregory walked to the edge of the orchard, and stood
gazing over the Scotch garden, with his face a little tilted towards the
sky. Mrs. Pendyce felt he was grieving that she failed to see whatever
it was he saw up there, and she was sorry. He came back, and said:

"We won't discuss it any more."

Very dubiously she heard those words, but as she could not express the
anxiety and doubt torturing her soul, she told him tea was ready. But
Gregory would not come in just yet out of the sun.

In the drawing-room Beatrix was already giving tea to young Tharp and the
Reverend Husell Barter. And the sound of these well-known voices
restored to Mrs. Pendyce something of her tranquillity. The Rector came
towards her at once with a teacup in his hand.

"My wife has got a headache," he said. "She wanted to come over with me,
but I made her lie down. Nothing like lying down for a headache. We
expect it in June, you know. Let me get you your tea."

Mrs. Pendyce, already aware even to the day of what he expected in June,
sat down, and looked at Mr. Barter with a slight feeling of surprise. He
was really a very good fellow; it was nice of him to make his wife lie
down! She thought his broad, red-brown face, with its protecting, not
unhumorous, lower lip, looked very friendly. Roy, the Skye terrier at her
feet, was smelling at the reverend gentleman's legs with a slow movement
of his tail.

"The old dog likes me," said the Rector; "they know a dog-lover when they
see one wonderful creatures, dogs! I'm sometimes tempted to think they
may have souls!"

Mrs. Pendyce answered:

"Horace says he's getting too old."

The dog looked up in her face, and her lip quivered.

The Rector laughed.

"Don't you worry about that; there's plenty of life in him." And he
added unexpectedly: "I couldn't bear to put a dog away, the friend of
man. No, no; let Nature see to that."

Over at the piano Bee and young Tharp were turning the pages of the
"Saucy Girl"; the room was full of the scent of azaleas; and Mr. Barter,
astride of a gilt chair, looked almost sympathetic, gazing tenderly at
the old Skye.

Mrs. Pendyce felt a sudden yearning to free her mind, a sudden longing