e up in arms.

"Tell me, my darling," said Mrs. Hollingford, with her arm round my
neck, "is there anything amiss between you and John?"

"What could there be amiss?" I said, kissing her hand, and avoiding her
eyes. "I have not seen him since the day I came here. He has called to
inquire for me constantly."

"I thought of it before you left us," she said sadly, "and I fear it
more every day. He is--you are both strangely altered. Margery, don't
jilt my son. He is not as fine a gentleman as others you may see, but
you will never meet his like."

I turned my head away, and said nothing. What was there that I could
say? My heart was big with much that I could not tell, and I was silent.
And so the occasion passed away. Mrs. Hollingford went home with a
bitter doubt in her heart; and the doubt was all of me.

After she had gone, Mrs. Hill came and sat with me, and tried to amuse
me. She was a good little woman, but her gossip was tiresome, and her
anecdotes worldly. I was glad when her duty to her other guests carried
her away. You will find it hard, my dears, to understand from my account
of this time that I was staying at a pleasant country-house full of
merry-making people. But the people were only shadows to me, and the
time a puzzle. What was not real to me then, I cannot make real to you
now.

The afternoon was wet and windy, and the riding-party returned early,
all but Rachel and another lady and gentleman. These came home later. I
was sitting in my room, in the firelight, alone, when Rachel came to me,
laughing, in her wet riding-habit, saying she had had enough of the
weather.

I said, "Yes, it is a pity you went."

"No, not a pity," she said. Then, "Has not Mrs. Hollingford been here?"

"Yes," I said.

"Here, in this room, with you?"

"There, in that chair, by your side."

She turned and looked at the chair with a strange look, which was
wonderful to see, but quite indescribable. She drew it to the hearth,
and sat down in it, throwing back her wet skirts and leaning towards the
fire. Then I saw that she looked pale and worn, as if her riding had not
done her much good.

"Do you not love her, this Mrs. Hollingford?" she said, presently.

"Dearly," I said.

"Will you describe her to me?" said Rachel.

"She is tall and handsome," I began.

"Yes," put in Rachel, "I have heard so."

"There is something grand about her, though she dresses as gravely and
poorly as a nun. Her face is sweet and sad,