r, but she was
beginning to feel a sense of approaching confusion, where readjustment
would once more be necessary. The future looked longer, and she was
losing her pleasant sense of finality. She had guessed long ago that the
only chance of escaping the terrible restlessness that pursues so many
women, like enemies in the unseen world converted into furies, was to
caress and hug the present, fool the ego into the belief that it wanted
nothing beyond an imminent future, certain of realization, which should
be as all-possessing as the present. But she had been wise enough to do
little analysis, either of her depths or of life, and her time was full
enough.

"Are you asleep?" asked a polite voice. Gwynne swung himself over the
low railing of the veranda.

"I did not hear your horse." It would be long before he could surprise
her into any sort of emotion again.

"Good reason. I walked. I read Cooley until I had an alarming vision of
the Constitution of the United States writ black upon the sunset, so I
thought it was high time to walk it off. Naturally my footsteps led me
here."

"That was nice of them. Mac will drive you home, or you can have my
horse."

"It is like you to plan my departure before I have fairly arrived. May I
sit down?"

Isabel shivered. The glow had gone, there was only the intense dark
fiery blue behind the stars--silver and crystal and green; one rarely
sees a golden star in California. There were scattered lights in
Rosewater and on the hillsides; and the night boat winding through the
marsh was a mere chain of colored lights; here and there a lamp on a
head mast looked like a fallen star.

"That is the way I generally feel after the glow has disappeared," said
Gwynne, abruptly. "Let us go in."

There were blazing logs on the hearth, and a comfortable chair on either
side. The room looked very red and warm and seductive. As they passed
the table Isabel half lifted one of the English Reviews for which she
subscribed. "There is an allusion to you here," she said. "I meant to
send it to you. I fancy they want you back. It is very complimentary."

But Gwynne concealed the promptings of vanity and took one of the chairs
at the fireside, asking permission to light his pipe. She noted, as she
settled herself opposite, that there was less of repose in his long
figure than formerly, something of repressed activity, and his rather
heavy eyes were colder and more alert.

"It all seems a thousand ye