wcliffe
might understand, if he liked, capricious) she couldn't help it. There
was no reason why he should be so horribly hurt. It was not as if
there was anything personal in Gwenda's changing attitudes. And
Rowcliffe did indeed say to himself, Restless--restless. Yes. That was
the word for her; and he supposed she couldn't help it.

* * * * *

The study door opened and shut. Mary's eyes made a sign to him that
said, "We can't talk about this before my father. He won't like it."

But Mr. Cartaret had gone upstairs. They could hear him moving in the
room overhead.

"How is your other sister getting on?" said Rowcliffe abruptly.

"Alice? She's all right. You wouldn't know her. She can walk for
miles."

"You don't say so?"

He was really astonished.

"She's off now somewhere, goodness knows where."

"Ha!" Rowcliffe laughed softly.

"It's really wonderful," said Mary. "She's generally so tired in the
spring."

It _was_ wonderful. The more he thought of it the more wonderful it
was.

"Oh, well----" he said, "she mustn't overdo it."

It was Mary he suspected of overdoing it. On Ally's account, of
course. It wasn't likely that she would give the poor child away.

At that point Mrs. Gale came in with the tea-things. And presently the
Vicar came down to tea.

He was more than courteous this time. He was affable. He too greeted
Rowcliffe as if nothing had happened, and he abstained from any
reference to Gwenda.

But he showed a certain serenity in his restraint. Leaning back in
his armchair, his legs crossed, his hands joined lightly at the
finger-tips, his forehead smoothed, conversing affably, Mr. Cartaret
had the air of a man who might indeed have suffered through his
outrageous family, but for whom suffering was passed, a man without
any trouble or anxiety. And serenity without the memory of suffering
was in Mary's good and happy face.

The house was very still, it seemed the stillness of life that ran
evenly and with no sound. And it was borne in upon Rowcliffe as he sat
there and talked to them that this quiet and tranquillity had come
to them with Gwenda's going. She was a restless creature, and she had
infected them with her unrest. They had peace from her now.

Only for him there could be no peace from Gwenda. He could feel her in
the room. Through the open door she came and went--restless, restless!

He put the thought of her from him.

* * *