g an opening, "told me he did not
believe in school."

"That is right," she answered. "He don't see the use of them. Nor
me," she concluded thoughtfully.

"That is a very unusual view," I ventured.

"How?" she asked vaguely.

"Most people," I explained, "think school a very good thing."

"It costs nothing," she mused and her hand fell away from the
paling. The two little boys ran off, intent on a fresh game. I
scanned her face furtively, appreciative of the regular and potent
modelling, the pure olive tints, the pose and poise of the head.
Indubitably her face was dark; the raven hair that swept across her
brow accentuated the gloom slumbering in her eyes. One unconsciously
surmised that somewhere within her life lay a region of unrest, a
period of passion not to be confused with the quiet courtship
described by her husband.

"True," I assented. "By the way, is Mr. Carville due in port soon?"
She turned her head and regarded me attentively.

"No," she said. "Do you wish to see him?"

"Oh, not particularly," I hastened to say. "He was telling us some
of his experiences at sea, you know. It was very interesting."

"I do not like the sea," she said steadily. "It made me sick ..."

"So it did me. But I enjoy hearing about foreign lands; Italy, for
instance."

"This is all right," Mrs. Carville replied in the same even tone.
"Here."

"And he will be back soon?" I said, reverting to Mr. Carville.

"Saturday he says; but it may not be till Monday. If bad weather
Monday ... Tuesday ... I cannot tell."

"I see," I said. "I hope we shall see him then. He was telling us
..." I paused. It occurred to me that she would hardly care to be
apprised of what her husband had been telling us--"of his early
life," I ended lamely.

"Of me?" She asked the question with eyes gazing out toward the
blue ridge of the Orange Mountains, without curiosity or anger. I
felt sheepish.

"Something," I faltered. She turned once more to glance in my
direction. I was surprised at the mildness of her expression.
Almost she smiled. At any rate her lips parted.

"He is a good man," she said softly, and added as she turned away,
"Good afternoon."

CHAPTER XI

MR. CARVILLE SEES THREE GREEN LIGHTS

As happens on occasion the weather changed with dramatic suddenness
in the last week in November. One might almost imagine that our
august emperor of the seasons, the Indian Summer, protracting his
reign against all the wishes of t