s gaiety of spirit soon died away, confronted by the
problem of what she should do next.

She reached her hotel without making a decision. She sat down in the
reading-room to write to Gregory, and while she sat there with her pen in
her hand a dreadful temptation came over her to say bitter things to him,
because by not seeing people as they were he had brought all this upon
them. But she had so little practice in saying bitter things that she
could not think of any that were nice enough, and in the end she was
obliged to leave them out. After finishing and sending off the note she
felt better. And it came to her suddenly that, if she packed at once,
there was just time to catch the 5.55 to Worsted Skeynes.

As in leaving her home, so in returning, she followed her instinct, and
her instinct told her to avoid unnecessary fuss and suffering.

The decrepit station fly, mouldy and smelling of stables, bore her almost
lovingly towards the Hall. Its old driver, clean-faced, cheery, somewhat
like a bird, drove her almost furiously, for, though he knew nothing, he
felt that two whole days and half a day were quite long enough for her to
be away. At the lodge gate old Roy, the Skye, was seated on his
haunches, and the sight of him set Mrs. Pendyce trembling as though till
then she had not realised that she was coming home.

Home! The long narrow lane without a turning, the mists and stillness,
the driving rain and hot bright afternoons; the scents of wood smoke and
hay and the scent of her flowers; the Squire's voice, the dry rattle of
grass-cutters, the barking of dogs, and distant hum of threshing; and
Sunday sounds--church bells and rooks, and Mr. Barter's preaching; the
tastes, too, of the very dishes! And all these scents and sounds and
tastes, and the feel of the air to her cheeks, seemed to have been for
ever in the past, and to be going on for ever in the time to come.

She turned red and white by turns, and felt neither joy nor sadness, for
in a wave the old life came over her. She went at once to the study to
wait for her husband to come in. At the hoarse sound he made, her heart
beat fast, while old Roy and the spaniel John growled gently at each
other.

"John," she murmured, "aren't you glad to see me, dear?"

The spaniel John, without moving, beat his tail against his master's
foot.

The Squire raised his head at last.

"Well, Margery?" was all he said.

It shot through her mind that he looked