ked in her abrupt way, so like a boy's.

Stonor regarded his pipe-bowl attentively, but did not thereby succeed
in masking his blushes.

"Aha! You have!" she cried. "No need to answer."

"That depends on what you mean," he said, determined not to let her
outface him. "If you mean a regular cut and dried affair, no."

"But you're in love."

"Some might say so."

"Don't you say so?"

"I don't know. I've had no instruction on the subject."

"Pshaw! It's a poor kind of man that needs instruction!"

"I daresay."

"Tell me, and maybe I can instruct you."

"How can you tell the untellable?"

"Well, for instance, do you like to be with her?"

Stonor affected to study the matter. "No," he said.

She gave him so comical a look of rebuke that he laughed outright. "I
mean I'm uncomfortable whether I'm with her or away from her," he
explained.

"There may be something in that," she admitted. "Have you ever told
her?"

"No."

"Why don't you tell her like a man?"

"Things are not as simple as all that."

"Obstacles, eh?"

"Rather!"

A close observer might have perceived under Clare's scornful chaffing
the suggestion of a serious and anxious purpose. "Bless me! this is
getting exciting!" she said. "Maybe the lady has a husband?"

"No, not that."

A glint of relief showed under her lowered lids. "What's the trouble,
then?"

"Oh, just my general unworthiness, I guess."

"I don't think you can love her very much," she said, with pretended
scorn.

"Perhaps not," he said, refusing to be drawn.

She allowed the subject to drop. It was characteristic of Clare in her
lighter moments that her conversation skipped from subject to subject
like a chamois on the heights. Those who knew her well, though, began to
suspect in the end that there was often a method in her skipping. She
now talked of the day's journey, of the weather, of Mary's good
cooking, of a dozen minor matters. After a long time, when he might
naturally be supposed to have forgotten what they had started with, she
said offhand:

"Do you mind if I ask one question about myself?"

"Fire away."

"You told me my name was Miss Clare Starling."

"Do you suspect otherwise?"

"What am I doing with a wedding-ring?"

It took him unawares. He stared at her a little clownishly. "I--I never
noticed it," he stammered.

"It's hanging on a string around my neck."

"Your husband is dead," he said bluntly.

She cast down her eyes. "Was that--the ca