eldest
son of the largest fruit farmer in the town--a man, therefore, in
much request, conspicuous at every party to which it was thought
considerate to ask Mrs. Bishop and her daughters. To Sally's mind,
nauseated still whenever she thought of it by the light in which
Devenish had seen her, the possibility of a man falling in love with
her was remote from her consideration. She was brought abruptly to
its realization by a remark which Dora, her younger sister, dropped
for her benefit.

"If Mr. Grierson wasn't so eminently sensible," she said one evening
after a tea which Mrs. Bishop had given at the tennis club, "one would
feel inclined to think that he'd lost his head over you, Sally."

A flame of colour spread across Sally's cheeks. "Let's be thankful
that he's eminently sensible, then," she replied.

"What--do you mean to say you wouldn't marry him?"

"He hasn't asked me--surely that's sufficient. He never will. My
position in life is not the position that he's ever likely to choose
a wife from."

"Your position, Sally," said Mrs. Bishop, looking up from the writing
of a letter at the other end of the room, "so long as you are with
us, is the same as ours."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that, mother. So I say it's quite unlikely
that he will ever ask me to marry him."

Then she left the room, and they discussed the advisability of
keeping her with them. The fact that she saved the expense of Miss
Hatch's services as music-mistress weighed ponderously in the
balance, swung down the scales. They tacitly passed the matter over.

Upstairs Sally was saying good night to Maurie. "I only want you,
my darling," she whispered in the darkness. "I don't want anybody
else now--say you know I don't want anybody else."

"But you can't," he replied simply; "I'm mummy's."

Sally stood up from the bed. "Yes--you're mummy's," she repeated
under her breath, and she repeated it again. She went into her bedroom,
beginning slowly to undress, still repeating it.

From that day onwards, whenever possible, she avoided Mr. Grierson
as you skirt a district where fever rages. He was too good a man,
too honourable, for her to throw her life in his way. All the outlook
of men upon a woman such as herself, which Devenish that evening had
shown her, rose warningly to thwart her from taking the opportunity
which circumstances seemed generously to be offering. The love of
Traill was in no wise lessened in her heart; but now, lifting beside