aside. The black gown,
hanging about her in soft trailing folds, added to the graceful height of
her slight figure. The white tokens of widowhood at neck and wrists gave
to her unusual beauty a pathetic suggestion of wistful loneliness. Her
face was very pale; a purple tint beneath the tired eyes betokened tears
and sleeplessness. But the calm steadfast look in those sweet eyes
revealed a mind free of all doubt; a heart, completely at rest.

She leaned back among the sofa cushions, her hands folded in her lap, and
waited.

Bees hummed in and out of the open windows. The scent of freesias filled
the room, delicate, piercingly sweet, yet not oppressive. To one man
forever afterwards the scent of freesias recalled that afternoon; the
exquisite sweetness of that lovely face; the trailing softness of her
widow's gown.

Steps in the hall.

The door opened. Groatley's voice, pompously sonorous, broke into the
waiting silence.

"The Earl of Airth, m'lady"; and Jim Airth walked in.

As the door closed behind him, Myra rose.

They stood, silently confronting one another beneath Lord Ingleby's
picture.

It almost seemed as though the thoughtful scholarly face must turn from
its absorbed contemplation of the little dog, to look down for a moment
upon them. They presented a psychological problem--these brave hearts in
torment--which would surely have proved interesting to the calm student
of metaphysics.

Silently they faced one another for the space of a dozen heart-beats.

Then Myra, with a swift movement, went up to Jim Airth, put her arms
about his neck, and laid her head upon his breast.

"I _know_, my beloved," she said. "You need not give yourself the pain of
trying to tell me."

"How?" A single syllable seemed the most Jim's lips, for the moment,
could manage.

"Billy told me. He and Ronald Ingram came over yesterday afternoon, soon
after you left. They had passed you, on your way to the station. They
thought I ought to know. So Billy told me."

Jim Airth's arms closed round her, holding her tightly.

"My--poor--girl!" he said, brokenly.

"They meant well, Jim. They are dear boys. They knew you would come back
and tell me yourself; and they wanted to spare us both that pain. I am
glad they did it. You were quite right when you said it had to be faced
alone. I could not have been ready for your return, if I had not heard
the truth, and had time to face it alone. I _am_ ready now, Jim."

Jim Airth laid h