r on he pulled up the
window because he saw her shiver a little. "These trains are well
warmed as a rule," he said.

Christine looked at him timidly.

She liked his face; something about his eyes made her think of Jimmy.

"Are you travelling far?" he asked presently.

She told him--only to Osterway.

He smiled suddenly.

"I am going there, too. Do you happen to know a place called Upton
House?"

Christine flushed.

"It's my home," she said. "I live there."

"What a coincidence. I heard it was in the market--I am going down
with a view to purchase."

Her face saddened.

"Yes--it is to be sold. My mother died last month. . . . Everything
is to be sold."

"You are sorry to have to part with it?" he asked her sympathetically.

"Yes." Tears rose to her eyes, and she brushed them, ashamedly away.
"I've lived there all my life," she told him. "All my happiest days
have been spent there." She was thinking of Jimmy, and the days when
he rode old Judas barebacked round the paddock.

The stranger was looking at Christine interestedly; he glanced down at
her left hand, from which she had removed the glove; he was surprised
to see that she wore a wedding ring.

Surely she could not be married--that child! He looked again at the
mourning she wore; perhaps her husband was dead. He forgot for the
moment that she had just told him of the death of her mother.

He questioned her interestedly about Osterway. What sort of a place
was it? Were the people round about sociable? He liked plenty of
friends, he said.

Christine answered eagerly that everyone was very nice. To hear her
talk one would have imagined that Osterway was a little heaven on
earth. The last few weeks, with their excitement and disillusionment,
had made the past seem all the more roseate by contrast. She told this
man that she would rather live in Osterway than anywhere else; that she
only wished she were sufficiently well off to keep Upton House.

When the train ran into the station he asked diffidently if he might be
allowed to drive her home.

"My car is down here," he explained. "I sent it on with my man. I am
staying in the village for a few days. . . . Upton House is some way
from the station, I believe?"

"Two miles. . . . I should like to drive home with you," she told him
shyly. "Only I am meeting a friend here."

"Perhaps your friend will drive with us, too," he said.

Christine thought it a most excellent arran