rtions. The house would
naturally be very full--how much of the time would they discover for
themselves? There would decidedly be occasions. Mary Falconer did not
hunt, and although Jimmy Bulstrode could recall having postulated that
"there are only two real occupations for a real man--to kill and to
love," he also knew what precedence he himself gave, and how little the
sportsmen of Westboro' would have cause to fear his concurrence if by
lucky chance in more or less of solitude he should find his lady there.

It was months since he had seen Mrs. Falconer--months. It had been a
long exile. Each time that he started out to run away, it was just
that--running away--it was with a curious wonder whether or not on his
return he should not find a change. Time and absence--above all, time,
worked extraordinary infidelities in other people. Why should they two
believe themselves immune? The long months might have altered _her_.
The mischief was yet to be seen. But when in the list of noble names
he had in his hand, his eyes fell upon the single prefix--_Mrs._--and
found it followed by _The Name_, if he had not sincerely known before,
his pulse at sight of the written words told Jimmy that he had not, at
all events, changed!

Thinking at this point to light a cigarette, he became at the second
mindful of the other passenger in his carriage and that they were
alone. As he looked across towards the lady who had unwound her dark
veil, he observed that she was herself smoking, holding the cigarette
in her hand as with head turned from him she scanned the landscape
through the window of the compartment.

He saw with a little start of pleasure what a delight she gave to the
eye, tastefully dressed as she too was, in leaf brown from head to
foot, with the slightest indication of forest green at buttons and hem
of her dress. Her hat, with its drooping feathers, fell rather low
over her wonderful hair, bronze in its reflections. Indeed, the lady
blended well with the November landscape, and as she apparently was not
conscious of her companion, he enjoyed the harmonious note she made to
the full.

"What scope," he mused, "what scope they all have--and how prettily
they most of them know it! So just to sit and be a thing of beauty;
with head half-drooping, and eyelash meditative, one hand ungloved, and
such a perfectly lovely hand...! (It held the half-smoked cigarette,
but his taste was not offended.) He thought her a