lines, making one note answer three letters, sometimes
more. Druro was no fancy letter-writer. He could tell a woman he
loved her, fervently enough, no doubt, either on or off paper, if the
spirit moved him. But he never told Marice anything except that he was
all right, and chirpy, and pretty busy at the mine, and hoped to see
her one of these days when the horizon looked a little clearer. Brief
and frank as were these missives, she studied them as closely as if
they had been written in the hieroglyphics of some unknown language,
and had often nearly bitten her underlip through by the time she
reached the end of them.

With the growing conviction that Capperne would recover, her letters to
Druro grew more intimate and perhaps a shade insistent on his
over-sensitiveness in absenting himself for so long from the society of
his best friends. It was natural that, when the good news was
definitely confirmed, she should expect him to present himself, and
perhaps that was why she came down to the lounge that day for tea,
instead of having it served in the private sitting-room as usual.

She was looking radiant. The systematic rest-cure, combined with the
services of her maid, a finished _masseuse_, had done wonders for her,
and a gown of chiffon shaded like a bunch of pansies and so transparent
that most of her could be seen through it successfully crowned her
efforts.

Druro felt the old charm of lamp-posts stealing like a delicate,
narcotizing perfume over his senses as he took her hand and listened to
her soft murmurs of congratulation. After all, it is true that almost
any woman can marry any man if she has a few looks, a few brains, and
the quality of persistence. Besides, Marice had him safely bonded.
The shrouded figure at the back of his mind that was waiting for some
quiet hour in which to discuss the mess he was making of his life would
have to be narcotized, too, or denied and driven forth.

Gay Liscannon came in with a riding party of noisy people, who
clattered over, clamouring for tea and clapping Druro on the shoulder
with blithe smiles. She gave him a friendly hand-clasp and said:

"Glad to see you're all right again, Lundi."

That was the spirit of all their welcomes. No one said openly:
"Hooray! You're out of the jaws of the law." But they welcomed him
like a long-lost brother turned up from the dead, and immediately began
to talk about getting up some kind of "jolly" for him. It must be