urst seemed so childish that Gaston laughed,
and his gloom passed.

By persistent practice he had felled every circumstance to a dead
level--he would raze this new element, too, to the ground, and things
would assume the old placidity.

"We'll welcome him when he comes, Joyce. I'm a selfish brute and don't
want to be disturbed; but of course any one who cares to come will be
welcome."

She shot a swift glance at him, then her eyes fell.

Gaston stared at her, and his face flushed. It had not been easy during
the past year to keep the man in him under control, but he had begun to
think, lately, the victory was assured. So confident was he of himself,
that he had planned a final test in order to make sure the future held
no danger for him--and her!

He sometimes wondered, if she were placed in different environment,
surrounded by luxuries and admiration, how she would appear; and how she
would affect him. In a way he had educated her and refined her. He had
grown used to her and taken her for granted, but there were moments when
she perplexed him.

His visit to Hillcrest was connected with his little plan to test, in a
fashion, this woman he had helped to form.

Her announcement about Drew had diverted his thought, but he returned
now to his own interests. Again he wondered if, after all he had done
for her, she could rise above Jude and St. Ange to a degree that might
touch him--that part of him that he hoped he had conquered forever.

If she could--then--but he would not anticipate. Drew's advent had
focussed his desire to put himself, and her, to the test. Joyce had
precipitated matters, that was all.

"Joyce!"

She was bending to place a log upon the fire.

"None of that! When I'm at home, the big logs are for me."

She laughed brightly. To be so guarded and cared for never ceased to be
exciting.

"And now for my surprise! It's a corker this time, Joyce."

Gaston walked to the lean-to room and brought out two boxes.

"Take them to your room, and put them on," he said.

There were always surprises when Gaston returned from Hillcrest. From
out the Somewhere, somehow there drifted marvellous things--books,
pictures, dresses, dainty slippers and home furnishings. Things that St.
Ange gaped silently upon. Joyce never asked questions. Like a child she
shielded this fairy-like mystery from her own curiosity. She was happier
not to know.

But to-night the boxes seemed heavy. Not from what they held, but