at the evidences of
a cultivated taste and love of beauty which the room supplied. It was
not quite the sort of abode she would have associated with the grim,
misanthropic type of man she judged her host to be.

The old-fashioned note, struck by the huge oaken beams supporting the
ceiling and by the open hearth, had been retained throughout, and every
detail--the blue willow-pattern china on the old oak dresser, the
dimly lustrous pewter perched upon the chimney-piece, the silver
candle-sconces thrusting out curved, gleaming arms from the paneled
walls--was exquisite of its kind. It reminded her of the old hall at
Barrow, where she and Patrick had been wont to sit and yarn together on
winter evenings.

The place had a well-tended air, too, and Sara, who waged daily war
against the slovenly shabbiness prevalent at Sunnyside, was all at once
sensible of how desperately she had missed the quiet perfection of the
service at Barrow. The nostalgia for her old home--the unquenchable,
homesick longing for the _place_ that has held one's happiness--rushed
over her in a overwhelming flood.

Wishing she had never come to this house, which had so stirred old
memories, she got up restlessly, driven by a sudden impulse to escape,
just as the door opened to re-admit Garth Trent.

He gave her a swift, searching glance.

"Sit down again," he commanded. "There"--gravely depositing a towel and
a pair of men's woolen socks on the floor beside her--"dry your feet and
put those socks on."

He moved quickly away towards the window and remained there, with his
back turned studiously towards her, while she obeyed his instructions.
When she had hung two very damp black silk stockings on the fire-dogs to
dry, she flung a somewhat irritated glance at him over her shoulder.

"You can come back," she said in a small voice.

He came, and stood staring down at the two woolly socks protruding from
beneath the short, tweed skirt. The suspicion of a smile curved his
lips.

"They're several sizes too large," he observed. "Odd creatures you women
are," he went on suddenly, after a brief silence. "You shy wildly at the
idea of letting a man see the foot God gave you, but you've no scruples
at all about letting any one see the selfishness that the devil's put
into your hearts."

He spoke with a kind of savage contempt; it was as though the speech
were tinged with some bitter personal memory.

Sara's eyes surveyed him calmly.

"I've no intenti