have."

"That is the way to talk to men," said Mrs. Muir, who was completely
under her husband's thumb. "They like you all the better for showing
some spirit."

"I am not trying to make Graydon like me better, but only to insure
that he spends Sunday as should a good American."

"There is no longer any 'better' about my liking for Madge. It's all
best. I admit, however, that she has so much spirit that she inspires
unaffected awe."

"A roundabout way of calling me awful."

"Since you won't ride or drive with me to-day, are you too 'awfully
good,' as Harry says, to take a walk after dinner?"

"It depends on how you behave in church."

They spent the afternoon in a very different manner, however, for soon
after breakfast Dr. Sommers told them that Tilly Wendall was at rest,
and that the funeral would be that afternoon.

With Dr. Sommers's tidings Graydon saw that a shadow had fallen
on Madge's face, and his manner at once became gravely and gently
considerate. There were allusions to the dead girl in the service at
the chapel, where she had been an attendant, and Graydon saw half-shed
tears in Madge's eyes more than once.

She drove out with him in the lovely summer afternoon to the gray old
farmhouse. The thoughts of each were busy--they had not much to say
to each other--and Madge was grateful, for his quiet consideration
for her mood. It was another proof that the man she loved had not a
shallow, coarse-fibred nature. With all his strength he could be a
gentle, sympathetic presence--thinking of her first, thoughtfully
respecting her unspoken wishes, and not a garrulous egotist.

He in turn wondered at his own deep content and at the strange and
unexpected turn that his affairs had taken. He not only dwelt on what
had happened, but on what might have happened--what he had hoped for
and sought to attain. He remembered with shame that he had even
wished that Madge had not been at the resort, so that he might be less
embarrassed in his suit to Miss Wildmere. From his first waking moment
in the morning he had been conscious of an immeasurable sense of
relief at his escape. He felt now that he had never deeply loved Miss
Wildmere--that she had never touched the best feelings of his heart,
because not capable of doing so. But he had admired her. He had been a
devotee of society, and she had been to him the beautiful culmination
of that phase of life. He saw he had endowed her with the womanly
qualities which woul