ly changed till it had become the silence of a
deep though unacknowledged reserve. It was wholly intangible, this
change. No outsider would have guessed of its existence. But to the
younger girl it was always vaguely present. She knew that somewhere
between herself and her friend there was a locked door. Her own
reserve never permitted her to attempt to open it. With a species of
pride that was largely composed of shyness, she held aloof. But she
was never quite unconscious of the opposing barrier. She felt that the
old sweet intimacy, that had so lightened the burden of her solitude,
was gone.

Meanwhile, Daisy was growing stronger, and day by day more active. She
never referred to her baby, and very seldom to her husband. When his
letters arrived she invariably put them away with scarcely a glance.
Muriel sometimes wondered if she even read them. It was pitifully
plain to her that Will Musgrave's place in his wife's heart was very,
very narrow. It had dwindled perceptibly since the baby's death.

On the subject of Will's letters, Nick could have enlightened her, for
he always appeared at the cottage on mail-day for news. But Muriel,
having discovered this habit, as regularly absented herself, with the
result that they seldom met. He never made any effort to see her. On
one occasion when she came unexpectedly upon him and Olga, shrimping
along the shore, she was surprised that he did not second the child's
eager proposal that she should join them. He actually seemed too keen
upon the job in hand to pay her much attention.

And gradually she began to perceive that this was the attitude towards
her that he had decided to assume. What it veiled she knew not, nor
did she inquire. It was enough for her that hostilities had ceased.
Nick apparently was bestowing his energies elsewhere.

Midsummer passed, and a July of unusual heat drew on. Dr. Jim and his
wife and boys had departed to Switzerland. Nick and Olga had elected
to remain at Redlands. They were out all day long in the motor or
dogcart, on horseback or on foot. Life was one perpetual picnic to
Olga just then, and she was not looking forward to the close of the
summer holidays when, so her father had decreed, she was to return to
her home and the ordinary routine. Nick's plans were still unsettled
though he spoke now and then of a prospective return to India. He must
in any case return thither, so he once told her, whether he decided
to remain or not. It was not