ay to do wrong, does it?"

"I haven't done wrong," said Marion.

"So you say now," Mrs. Cliffe told her, "but there'll come a day when
you see you have." She drew in her breath with a little gasp as Peacey
put his head in at the door.

He looked sharply from one to the other, and then advanced to Marion's
couch, rubbing his hands genially. "Now then, Trixy," he said teasingly,
"you don't want me to talk too long to your beloved husband, do you? I
might go telling him things about you, mightn't I? You run along and
look after him." Mrs. Cliffe retired quite taciturnly, nothing in her
face responding to this rallying, and he bent quickly over Marion. "I
hope she hasn't been worrying you?" he asked. Concern for her?--it
sounded just like concern for her--made his voice tremble. "That's why I
hurried back. Women are so narrow-minded to their poor sisters who
haven't been so fortunate. I thought she might have been making you feel
a bit uncomfortable."

"Oh no," said Marion.

The mask of his poor ugly face, which had been grotesque with pitying
lines, became smooth. He sighed with relief, and sat down by her side,
very humbly.

"But she was beginning to talk rather strangely," the poor fool Marion
had continued. "I think she's altered very much lately."

"Do you know, I was thinking so myself," Peacey had answered
reflectively. "I wonder if she's got anything on her mind. I wish I
could find out. One doesn't like a 'ome of friends not to share its
worries with you, without giving you a fair chance to 'elp. I must see
whether I can get it out of 'er."

Oh, he was a kind man. He was certainly very kind. She put down her cup
and braced her body and her soul, and said, "Mr. Peacey...."

The world had deceived her utterly that day; and yet there was one in
that cottage who had suffered more than she, for by her suffering she
had bought no Richard. Poor Mrs. Cliffe! She was a woman of sixty now,
white-haired, and fine-featured with the anxious fineness of one who has
for long lived out of favour with herself and has laboured hard for
re-establishment; but the fear still dwelt in her. Most times that
Marion passed down Roothing High Street, and saw the old woman sitting
knitting in the garden while her old blind husband shuffled happily here
and there, they would but bow and smile and look away very quickly. But
every now and then, perhaps once a year, she would put down her knitting
so soon as Marion came in sight and c