a shiver, passed through her, her brow gathered, she flushed deeply.

Turning away from the mirror, she went and sat down again on the edge
of the veille. Her mind had changed. She would go to the Dean's--but
not till it was dark. She suddenly thought it strange that the Dean had
never said anything about the license. Why, again, perhaps he had. How
should she know what gossip was going on in the town! But no, she was
quick to feel, and if there had been gossip she would have felt it in
the manner of her neighbours. Besides, gossip as to a license to marry
was all on the right side. She sighed--she had sighed so often of
late--to think what a tangle it all was, of how it would be smoothed out
tomorrow, of what--

There was a click of the garden-gate, a footstep on the walk, a
half-growl from Biribi, and the face of Carterette Mattingley appeared
in the kitchen doorway. Seeing Guida seated on the veille, she came in
quickly, her dancing dark eyes heralding great news.

"Don't get up, ma couzaine," she said, "please no. Sit just there, and
I'll sit beside you. Ah, but I have the most wonderfuls!"

Carterette was out of breath. She had hurried here from her home. As she
said herself, her two feet weren't in one shoe on the way, and that with
her news made her quiver with excitement.

At first, bursting with mystery, she could do no more than sit and look
in Guida's face. Carterette was quick of instinct in her way, but yet
she had not seen any marked change in her friend during the past few
months. She had been so busy thinking of her own particular secret that
she was not observant of others. At times she met Ranulph, and then she
was uplifted, to be at once cast down again; for she saw that his
old cheerfulness was gone, that a sombreness had settled on him. She
flattered herself, however, that she could lighten his gravity if she
had the right and the good opportunity; the more so that he no longer
visited the cottage in the Place du Vier Prison.

This drew her closer to Guida also, for, in truth, Carterette had no
loftiness of nature. Like most people, she was selfish enough to hold a
person a little dearer for not standing in her own especial light. Long
ago she had shrewdly guessed that Guida's interest lay elsewhere than
with Ranulph, and a few months back she had fastened upon Philip as the
object of her favour. That seemed no weighty matter, for many sailors
had made love to Carterette in her time, and knowi