her grand wedding notwithstanding. No one ever dreamed of applying
any other title to her than the familiar "Miss Nan" that she had borne
from her babyhood. There was, in fact, a general feeling that the unknown
husband of Miss Nan was scarcely worthy of the high honour that had been
bestowed upon him. His desertion of her on the very day succeeding the
wedding had been freely criticised, and in many quarters condemned out of
hand. No one knew the exact circumstances of the case, but all were
agreed in pronouncing Miss Nan's husband a defaulter.

That Miss Nan herself was very far from fretting over the situation was
abundantly evident, but this fact did not in any way tend to justify the
offender, of whom it was beginning to be opined round the bars of the
village inns that he was "one o' them queer sort of cusses that it was
best for women to steer clear of."

Naturally these interesting shreds of gossip never reached Nan's ears.
She was, as she had ever been, supremely free from self-consciousness
of any description, and it never occurred to her that the situation in
which she was placed was sufficiently peculiar to cause comment. The
Everards had ever been a law unto themselves, and it was inconceivable
that anyone should attempt to apply to them the conventional rules by
which other people chose to let their lives be governed. Of course they
were different from the rest of the world. It had been an accepted fact
as long as she could remember, and it certainly had never troubled her,
nor was it ever likely to do so.

She was sublimely unconscious of all criticism as she ran down the
village street that night, nodding carelessly to any that she met, and
finally turned lightly in at her father's gates, walking with elastic
tread under the great arching beech trees that blotted the moonlight from
her path.

The front door stood hospitably open, and she entered to find her father
stretched in his favourite chair, smoking.

He greeted her with his usual gruff indulgence.

"Hallo, you mad-cap! I was just wondering whether I would scour the
country for you, or leave the door open and go to bed. I think it was
going to be the last, though, to be sure, it would have served you right
if I had locked you out. Had any dinner?"

"No, darling, supper--any amount of it." Nan dropped a kiss upon his bald
head in passing. "I've been with Jerry," she said, "on the lake the whole
day long. We watched the moon rise. It was so ro