point of telling herself
that it was "better so": this view of the episode so defended it from
the alternating extremes of self-reproach and derision, so enshrined it
in a pale immortality to which she could make her secret pilgrimages
without reproach.

For a long time she had not been able to pass by the bench under the
willows--she even avoided the elm walk till autumn had stripped its
branches. But every day, now, she noted a step toward recovery; and at
last a day came when, walking along the river, she said to herself, as
she approached the bench: "I used not to be able to pass here without
thinking of him; _and now I am not thinking of him at all!_"

This seemed such convincing proof of her recovery that she began, as
spring returned, to permit herself, now and then, a quiet session on
the bench--a dedicated hour from which she went back fortified to her
task.

She had not heard from her friend for six weeks or more--the intervals
between his letters were growing longer. But that was "best" too, and
she was not anxious, for she knew he had obtained the post he had been
preparing for, and that his active life in London had begun. The
thought reminded her, one mild March day, that in leaving the house she
had thrust in her reticule a letter from a Wentworth friend who was
abroad on a holiday. The envelope bore the London post mark, a fact
showing that the lady's face was turned toward home. Margaret seated
herself on her bench, and drawing out the letter began to read it.

The London described was that of shops and museums--as remote as
possible from the setting of Guy Dawnish's existence. But suddenly
Margaret's eye fell on his name, and the page began to tremble in her
hands.

"I heard such a funny thing yesterday about your friend Mr. Dawnish. We
went to a tea at Professor Bunce's (I do wish you knew the
Bunces--their atmosphere is so _uplifting_), and there I met that Miss
Bruce-Pringle who came out last year to take a course in histology at
the Annex. Of course she asked about you and Mr. Ransom, and then she
told me she had just seen Mr. Dawnish's aunt--the clever one he was
always talking about, Lady Caroline something--and that they were all
in a dreadful state about him. I wonder if you knew he was engaged when
he went to America? He never mentioned it to _us_. She said it was not
a positive engagement, but an understanding with a girl he has always
been devoted to, who lives near their place in Wilt