is too far away to count."

"Are you talking of the old days?" he broke in, in a voice that
grated. "Or of the time a few weeks ago when you got here to find
yourself stranded?"

She made a little gesture of protest. "It wasn't for long. I
don't want to think of it. But it might have been much worse.
Burke was--is still--so good to me."

"Is he?" said Guy. He was looking at her curiously, and
instinctively she turned away, avoiding his eyes.

"Come and have some lunch!" she said. "He ought to be in directly."

"He is in," said Guy. "He went round to the stable."

It was another instance of Burke's goodness that he had not been
present at their meeting. She turned to lead the way within with a
warm feeling at her heart. It was solely due to this consideration
of his that she had not suffered the most miserable embarrassment.
Somehow she felt that she could not possibly have endured that
first encounter in his presence. But now that it was over, now
that she had made acquaintance with this new Guy--this stranger
with Guy's face, Guy's voice, but not Guy's laugh or any of the
sparkling vitality that had been his--she felt she wanted him. She
needed his help. For surely now he knew Guy better than she did!

It was with relief that she heard his step, entering from the back
of the house. He came in, whistling carelessly, and she glanced
instinctively at Guy. That sound had always made her think of him.
Had he forgotten how to whistle also, she wondered?

She expected awkwardness, constraint; but Burke surprised her by
his ease of manner. Above all, she noticed that he was by no means
kind to Guy. He treated him with a curt friendliness from which
all trace of patronage was wholly absent. His attitude was rather
that of brother than host, she reflected. And its effect upon Guy
was of an oddly bracing nature. The semi-defiant air dropped from
him. Though still subdued, his manner showed no embarrassment. He
even, as time passed, became in a sardonic fashion almost jocose.

In company with Burke, he drank lager-beer, and he betrayed not the
smallest desire to drink too much. Furtively she watched him
throughout the meal, trying to adjust her impressions, trying to
realize him as the lover to whom she had been faithful for so long,
the lover who had written those always tender, though quite
uncommunicative letters, the lover, who had cabled her his welcome,
and then had so completely and so crue