haven't many of those," she told him and, to hide her trouble, she
put the fingers of both hands to her forehead.

"What's the matter with you? You sound pretty morbid."

"No, I'm only--careful. John, are you afraid of life?"

His eyes fell on the rows of springing vegetables. "Look at 'em coming
up," he murmured. "Rather not. I couldn't grow things." He gathered up
his tools and put them in the shed.

"You see," she said, "one never knows what's going to happen, but it's
no good worrying, and I suppose one must just go on."

"It's the only thing to do," John assured her gravely. "Have you made
yourself beautiful for the uncle?"

She pointed to an upper window smeared with light. "I have left that to
Miriam, but I must go and put on my best frock."

"You always look all right," he said. "I suppose it's because your
hair's so smooth."

"No," she answered, and laughed with her transforming gaiety, "it's just
because I'm mediocre and don't get noticed."

He hesitated and decided to be bold. "I'll tell you something, as you're
so down in the mouth. Rupert thinks you're better looking than Miriam.
There! Go and look at yourself." He waved her off, and the questions
fell from her lips unuttered.

She lighted a candle and went upstairs, but when she had passed into the
dark peace of Jane and put the candle on her dressing-table, she found
she needed more illumination by which to see this face which Rupert
considered fair.

"Miriam will have heaps of them," she said and knocked at Phoebe's
door.

"I've come to borrow a candle," she said as she was told to enter, and
added, "Oh, what waste! I hope Notya won't come in."

"She can't unless I let her," Miriam answered grimly.

There were lights on the mantelpiece, on the dressing-table, on the
washstand, and two in tall sticks burned before the cheval glass as
though it had been an altar.

"You can take one of them," Miriam said airily.

The warm whiteness of her skin gleamed against her under-linen like a
pale fruit fallen by chance on frozen snow: her hair was held up by the
white comb she had been using, and this stood out at an impetuous angle.
She went nearer to the mirror.

"I've been thinking," she said, "what a lovely woman my mother must have
been. Do you think I look like a Spanish dancer? Now, don't tell me
you've never seen one. Take your candle and go away."

Helen obeyed and shut both doors quietly. She put the second candle
beside the first and