"

"I heard she was ill."

"Who told you?"

"Dr. Mackenzie."

"Oh, he's been again, has he?"

"Yes." Her voice had a ring in it. "And he will come tomorrow."

"And the next day, I suppose, and the next. I should have thought he'd
spare that old nag of his; but no, up he comes, and I want to know why."

She did not answer immediately because she feared to betray the
indignation that moved in her like a living thing. She found her sewing
and signed to him to put her chair into its place, and when she had
stitched steadily for a time she said in pleasant tones, "George, you
are like a bad person in a book."

"I'm not up to this kind of talk. You told me yourself that Mrs. Caniper
hardly needs a doctor. What does he come for, then? Is it for you?"

"No, it is not."

"Do you like the man?"

She opened her lips and shut them several times before she spoke. "I'm
very fond of him--and of Daniel."

"Oh, leave Daniel alone. No woman would look at him."

She gave him a considering gaze for which he could have struck her,
because it put him further from her than he had ever been.

"It's no good staring at me like that. I've seen you with him before
now."

"Everybody on the moor must have seen me with him."

"Yes, and walking pretty close. I remember that."

"Very likely you will see me walking with him again."

"No, by God!"

"Oh," she said, wearily, "how often you call on God's name."

"No wife of mine--"

She laughed. "You talk like Bluebeard. How many wives have you?"

"I've none," he cried in an extremity of bitterness. "But I'll have one
yet, and I'll keep her fast!"

She lifted her head in the haughty way he dreaded. "I will not endure
suspicions," she said clearly, but she flushed at her own words, for she
remembered that she had been willing to give Zebedee the lesser tokens
of her love, and it was only by his sternness that she could look George
in the eyes. Zebedee would have taken her boldly and completely,
believing his action justified, but he would have no little secret
dealings, and she was abashed by the realization of her willingness to
deceive. She was the nearer to George by that discovery, and the one
shame made her readier to suffer more.

"It's because I want you," he said, shading his eyes; and for the first
time she had no resentment for his desires.

"Oh, George, don't you think you had better go home?" she said.

"Why?" he asked her.

"Because--because I want to read."