o draw a long breath and marvel at the
glories of the scene. It was peaceful but not quiet. The fallen leaves
rustled incessantly, and the squirrels, not at all deceived by this
pretence of summer, went busily on with their preparations for what was
coming, chattering volubly the while. The sound of a whistle drifted
faintly from the distant railroad, that man and his works should not be
forgotten, even here.

Good's clouded brow cleared, and the heaviness dropped from his heart.
He had come from the clamorous city, with its strife, its falsities, its
bitter disappointments; and presently he would return. But now, for one
brief moment, in the midst of sweet, mysterious odours, and sweeter
memories, he was very happy.

He kicked the leaves around his feet exultantly, like a boy, and tried
to persuade every squirrel he saw to come and taste the mythical peanut
he held in his fingers. The squirrels were wary, but a little dog limped
up to him wagging a fragmentary tail and whining faintly. He stopped to
analyse the whine, and as a result a troublesome burr ceased longer to
trouble. The animal followed him the rest of the way to the Wynrod
house.

The man turned at the gate. "Good-bye, friend," he said gravely. The dog
wagged his whole body and barked twice. It was indisputable that he
understood.

Good found Judith waiting for him in the library. As they shook hands he
thought that he had never seen so lovely a creature. She was dressed in
a riding costume of hunter green, which toned perfectly with the
autumnal warmth of her skin. There was a wine-like sparkle in her eyes
and her teeth gleamed in an unaffected smile as she greeted him.
Apparently his presence was pleasing to her. But as he caught a glimpse
of their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace, he wondered, a
little dismally, how that were possible. She was so fresh and sound and
glowing, and yet, withal, so dainty, so delicate, so thoroughly
feminine: while he ... never, he thought, had he realised quite how
awkward and grotesque a thing he was. The mirror was brutally candid.
Beside her face, with its colouring of frost-ripened apple, his own
stared back, telling its sordid tale of stuffy rooms and gas-light and
greasy food and lack of exercise. With its seams and wrinkles it looked
like a coat of white paint, yellowed and broken by over-long exposure
to the elements. He was suddenly conscious that his suit was very old
and ill-fitting, and that his