efore, to go elsewhere, if my
presence here is in the least degree . . . annoying to you."

"Oh, but that would be a pity. You must have had a special reason for
choosing Dalhousie."

"Some friends of mine were coming up, and asked me to come too. But
they will quite understand if I say I should prefer to go shooting
beyond Chumba."

"Don't say it, though, please. I would really rather you did not put
yourself out in the smallest degree on _my_ account. Besides," she
added, achieving a rather uncertain smile, "we need not meet often, and
no one--except Michael--will have any notion of . . . the truth."

"Of course not," he agreed, with glacial dignity. "I was forgetting
that you had--discarded my name."

Again the blood flew to her cheeks.

"It seemed the simplest way to avoid possible complications, or
unnecessary lies."

"And you flung away--my ring also?"

The question came out in spite of himself, for he had noted her
ungloved left hand.

"No. Only I could not very well wear it--under the circumstances."

He stood aside now to let her pass. He himself then mounted, and
followed her along the narrow path, raging against the irony of
circumstance, as a man bites upon a sore tooth.

On reaching the spaciousness of Bakrota Mall, he had no choice but to
ride abreast of his companion. He did so without remark, and since
Quita lacked courage to spur her pony to a canter, they continued to
ride thus for a time; each, under an admirable mask of composure,
painfully aware of the other's presence.

Speech seemed only likely to widen the gulf between them, and at all
times Lenox had a large capacity for silence.

Not so Quita. The last ten minutes had been overcrowded with
conflicting emotions; her husband's mute proximity got upon her nerves,
and a setting of pine and mountain put a finishing touch to an already
intolerable situation. She turned upon him at length, with a small
gesture of defiance,--a well-remembered tilt of her chin that pierced
him like a sword-thrust.

"Don't feel bound to escort me, please. I am constantly out alone.
You may have a long way to go; and we need hardly play at polite
conventionalities--you and I."

He glanced at her keenly for a second.

"Thanks; I am in no hurry. But--if you would prefer it?"

"I think it would be less--uncomfortable for us both," she made answer
desperately.

"In that case, of course . . ." He gathered up his reins, and lifted
his hat,