timbreless voice and her unconvincing
gestures. It was only her clumsiness that had prevented her from opening
the French window; the lock was all right. Ellen felt that she would die
if she did not have an hour alone with Richard to relearn that life
could be lived easily and with grace. But it would be just like the
creature's untimeliness and awkwardness to be still hanging about the
garden in readiness and pop in just when everything was being lovely.
Ellen crossed to one of the small leaded windows which were on each side
of the French window and looked out of the open pane in its centre. It
was as she feared. The light streaming from the room showed her Marion
standing half-way across the lawn, looking up at the top storey of the
house. As the ray found her she lowered her head and made a jerky,
embarrassed movement in the direction of Ellen, who, feeling merciless,
continued to hold back the curtain. Marion drew her cloak collar up
about her ears and stepped aside into the darkness. Ellen went and sat
down by the fire. From something in Marion's bearing, she knew that she
would not be back for some time.

It would be beautiful when Richard came down to her. Now that the room
was purged of its late occupant she felt herself becoming again the
miracle that Richard's love had made her in the days before they left
Edinburgh. Her heart beat quicker, she was sustained by a general mirth
and needed no particular joke to make her smile. She felt the equal of
the tall flame that was driving through the fire. It did not worry her
that Richard was not with her, for she knew that at each moment she was
recovering more and more of that joy in life which had previously come
to her every morning, though those were greyer than here: which had been
a real possession, since Richard had often, when he was tired, found
such restoration in reading its signs on her as a footsore man might
find in throwing himself in long grass: which had been gradually going
from her ever since the house had begun to draw her into its affairs.
Now she was regaining it; though, indeed, ever to have become conscious
of it, as she had during the time of being without it, was to have lost
the glad essence of it. She quailed and rejoiced like a convalescent who
sets out to put his strength to the test, when she heard the slamming of
a door overhead.

He did not come to her at once, but looked round the room and said:
"Where's Marion?"

It would be as we