ent to wait, and
hope; and in the meanwhile, he walked at her side wrapt in the mere joy
of possession; one of the strongest, yet least recognised passions of a
man's heart. From time to time he glanced at her attentively; and each
glance strengthened his faith in that which had come upon him, sudden
as an earthquake, and no less subversive of ancient landmarks, of
confirmed prejudices and convictions in regard to the woman element in
man's life.

For Quita Lenox, though far from beautiful, in the accepted sense, was
undeniably good to look at. Coils of soft hair, golden in the sun,
brown in the shade; eyes neither grey nor green, intensified by
unusually large pupils, and by brows and lashes almost black; a
straight nose, low at the root; a mouth too long, too mobile for
beauty, its emotional quality safeguarded by an uncompromising chin,
completed a face whose charm lay in no particular excellence of
details; but in the vivid spirit,--quick to see, to feel, to
understand,--that informed and harmonised a somewhat contradictory
whole. An abiding sense of humour, hovering about her lips and in her
eyes, kept the world sane and sweet for her, and leavened her whole
outlook on life. A minor quality completed her charm. By virtue of
the French blood in her veins, she imparted, even to the simplest
garments, an air of distinction, of exquisite finish, to which an
Englishwoman rarely attains.

At three-and-twenty Quita Lenox was very artist, though not, as yet,
very woman. The complex Ego, which is the keystone of Art, had not
been tested and dominated by the great simple forces, which are the
keystone of life.

But her husband was in no mood to analyse her appearance, or her charm.
He wanted beyond all things to know what was passing in her mind, and
because his own thoughts were too passionate for utterance, he waited
for her to speak. But for the first time in his knowledge of her, he
waited in vain. Protracted silence on her part was a phenomenon so
unusual, that at length he turned to her definitely, a shadow of
misgiving in his clear Northern eyes.

"Are you thinking over it all very seriously . . . now that it is done
past undoing?"

He smiled in speaking, and she met his look with her accustomed
frankness.

"And if I am . . . ? Surely that service gives one food for
reflection. I had not so much as looked at it since early days when
curiosity impelled me to read it through; and weddings have never b