But the old
sense of free communion was again obstructed, and her interest in the
details of the schools and nursery now seemed to him only a part of her
wonderful art of absorbing herself in other people's affairs. He was a
fool to have been duped by it--to have fancied it was anything more
personal than a grace of manner.

As she turned away from inspecting the blackboards in one of the empty
school-rooms he paused before her and said suddenly: "You spoke of not
seeing Westmore again. Are you thinking of leaving Cicely?"

The words were almost the opposite of those he had intended to speak; it
was as if some irrepressible inner conviction flung defiance at his
surface distrust of her.

She stood still also, and he saw a thought move across her face. "Not
immediately--but perhaps when Mr. Langhope can make some other
arrangement----"

Owing to the half-holiday they had the school-building to themselves,
and the fact of being alone with her, without fear of interruption, woke
in Amherst an uncontrollable longing to taste for once the joy of
unguarded utterance.

"Why do you go?" he asked, moving close to the platform on which she
stood.

She hesitated, resting her hand on the teacher's desk. Her eyes were
kind, but he thought her tone was cold.

"This easy life is rather out of my line," she said at length, with a
smile that draped her words in vagueness.

Amherst looked at her again--she seemed to be growing remote and
inaccessible. "You mean that you don't want to stay?"

His tone was so abrupt that it called forth one of her rare blushes.
"No--not that. I have been very happy with Cicely--but soon I shall have
to be doing something else."

Why was she blushing? And what did her last phrase mean? "Something
else--?" The blood hummed in his ears--he began to hope she would not
answer too quickly.

She had sunk into the seat behind the desk, propping her elbows on its
lid, and letting her interlaced hands support her chin. A little bunch
of violets which had been thrust into the folds of her dress detached
itself and fell to the floor.

"What I mean is," she said in a low voice, raising her eyes to
Amherst's, "that I've had a great desire lately to get back to real
work--my special work.... I've been too idle for the last year--I want
to do some hard nursing; I want to help people who are miserable."

She spoke earnestly, almost passionately, and as he listened his
undefined fear was lifted. He had nev