year ago. Though she
had not cared to face the fact, she was troubled by a suspicion that
she had made an unwise choice then. Leslie had changed since their
marriage. He was harsh at times, and though he had, even in their more
humble quarters, surrounded her with a certain amount of luxury, there
was a laxity in his manners and conversation that jarred upon her.
Geoffrey, she remembered, had not been addicted to mincing words, but,
at least, he had lived in accordance with a Spartan moral code.
Millicent was not a scrupulous woman, and her ideas of ethical justice
were rudimentary, but she possessed in place of a conscience a delicate
sense of refinement which her husband frequently offended.

Feeling chilly at length, and seeing no sign of the shooter's return,
Millicent went back into the house. She stopped when she reached the
square entrance hall which served the purpose of a lounging-room. The
hall had been rudely ceiled and paneled at a time when skilled
craftsmen were scarce in the North Country, and in the daylight it was
more or less dim and forbidding, but with the lamps lighted and a fire
blazing in the wide, old-fashioned hearth, the place looked invitingly
comfortable. When she entered, Millicent was not altogether pleased to
see another woman there. Marian Thwaite, whom she knew but had not
expected to meet, lay in a big chair near the fire. The glow of health
which the keen air of the moors had brought there was in her face. She
wore heavy boots and severely simple walking attire. Her features
suggested a decided character, and she had unwavering blue eyes.

"Mrs. Boone won't be down for some minutes, and I believe the rest are
dressing," Marian said. "I haven't seen you since your marriage, and
to tell the truth, you're not looking by any means as fresh as you did
before you left us. I suppose it's one effect of living in London?"

She studied Millicent with a steady contemplative gaze, and there was
no doubt that her comment was justified. Millicent's face was pallid,
there was a certain weariness in her eyes, and on the whole, her
expression was languidly querulous.

"I didn't know you were coming to-night," said Millicent, as she sank
into a chair.

"I didn't know it myself," Marian explained. "I was out on the fells,
and I met Boone as I came down this way. He said somebody would drive
me home, if I'd stay. You have been here a week, haven't you? How is
it you haven't come ove