her tithe collecting expedition--with the tithe. The door
of the sitting-room was still ajar, and Geoffrey had his back towards
it. So it happened that nobody heard Elizabeth's rather cat-like step,
and for some seconds she stood in the doorway without being perceived.
She stood quite still, taking in the whole scene at a glance. She
noticed that her sister held her head down, so that her hair shadowed
her, and guessed that she did so for some reason--probably because she
did not wish her face to be seen. Or was it to show off her lovely hair?
She noticed also the half shy, half amused, and altogether interested
expression upon Geoffrey's countenance--she could see that in the little
gilt-edged looking-glass which hung over the fire-place, nor did she
overlook the general air of embarrassment that pervaded them both.

When she came in, Elizabeth had been thinking of Owen Davies, and of
what might have happened had she never seen the tide of life flow back
into her sister's veins. She had dreamed of it all night and had thought
of it all day; even in the excitement of extracting the back tithe from
the recalcitrant and rather coarse-minded Welsh farmer, with strong
views on the subject of tithe, it had not been entirely forgotten. The
farmer was a tenant of Owen Davies, and when he called her a "parson in
petticoats, and wus," and went on, in delicate reference to her powers
of extracting cash, to liken her to a "two-legged corkscrew only
screwier," she perhaps not unnaturally reflected, that if ever--_pace_
Beatrice--certain things should come about, she would remember that
farmer. For Elizabeth was blessed with a very long memory, as some
people had learnt to their cost, and generally, sooner or later, she
paid her debts in full, not forgetting the overdue interest.

And now, as she stood in the doorway unseen and noted these matters,
something occurred to her in connection with this dominating idea,
which, like ideas in general, had many side issues. At any rate a look
of quick intelligence shone for a moment in her light eyes, like a
sickly sunbeam on a faint December mist; then she moved forward, and
when she was close behind Geoffrey, spoke suddenly.

"What are you both thinking about?" she said in her clear thin voice;
"you seem to have exhausted your conversation."

Geoffrey made an exclamation and fairly jumped from his chair, a feat
which in his bruised condition really hurt him very much. Beatrice too
start