tation, a
little quiver of hope stirred in her heart. Early that morning Dan
himself had said to her before starting out to his work: "Get those
people away! They must be out of the house before I come into it again.
Pay them a week's money instead of notice if necessary. We can afford
it." So it was evident that he, too, had realised the danger of their
happiness--hers and his--if Miss Vallincourt remained at Stockleigh any
longer.

He did not come in till late in the evening, when June was sitting in
the lamplight, adding delicate stitchery to some tiny garments upon
which she was at work. She hid them hastily at the sound of his
footsteps, substituting one of his own socks that stood in need of
repair. Not yet could she share with him that wonderful secret joy which
was hers. There must be a clearer understanding between them first. They
must get back to where they were before Miss Vallincourt came between
them, so that nothing might mar the sweetness of the telling.

Presently Dan came into the room and sat down heavily. June looked
across at him.

"She has gone, Dan," she said quietly. She did not use the word "they."
Those others did not count as far as she was concerned. Her use of the
pronoun sounded significantly in Storran's ears.

"You know, then?" he said dully. Adding, after a moment's pause. "Did
she tell you?"

"Tell me?" repeated June doubtfully. "Tell me what?"

"That she's robbed you of all that belongs to you."

Her face blanched. "What do you mean, Dan?" she asked falteringly. "I
don't think I understand."

Her wide, questioning blue eyes, with that softness and depth of
expression dawning in them which motherhood gives to women's eyes,
searched his face. The innocent appeal of them cut him to the heart.
He had loved his wife; and now he had to tell her that he loved her no
longer.

"You've got to understand," he said roughly. His hatred of being
compelled to hurt her made him almost brutal. "I--everything is changed
between us, June." He stopped, not knowing how to go on.

"Changed? How, Dan?" Her voice sharpened with apprehension. "Do you
mean--that you don't--care any longer?"

"Yes. It's that. It's Magda--Oh, good God! Can't you understand?"

"You love Miss Vallincourt?" June spoke in carefully measured accents.
She felt that if she did not speak very quietly indeed she should
scream. She wanted to laugh, too. It sounded so absurd to be asking her
husband if he loved Miss Vallinco