ness, his eyes went to Maud. "You hear that?" he
said, almost on a note of challenge. "Why don't you laugh?"

She met his look with absolute steadfastness. There was a certain pity in
her own. "Because," she said with great gentleness, "I believe that it is
true."

In the silence that followed she waited for his own laugh of mockery and
did not hear it. The odd eyes comprehended her, and passed her by, fell
abruptly to Toby and dwelt upon her with a whimsical tenderness.

"I always said you were a little ass, didn't I, Toby?" he said.

And Toby turned with an apologetic murmur and softly kissed his hand.

CHAPTER X

RESOLUTIONS

Toby went to church that Sunday evening with great propriety, Saltash
having departed, taking Bunny with him to spend the evening at
Burchester. Her behaviour was a model of decorum throughout, but
returning she begged Jake for a cigarette as a reward of virtue.

"It'll keep me good for hours," she assured him.

And Jake, who yearned for a smoke himself, could not find it in his heart
to refuse.

"Don't overdo it, that's all!" he said. "Young Bunny is always at it, and
it's very bad for him."

"Oh, I've got heaps more sense than Bunny," said Toby, with lofty
assurance.

She smoked the cigarette with delicate appreciation though Jake's tobacco
was by no means suited to a feminine palate, and they returned at peace
with all the world.

Maud, who had been watching for them somewhat anxiously, saw with relief
that her fears were groundless. Toby's serene countenance told her that
all was well. No, she had not hated it so very badly after all. It was
nothing to make a fuss about anyhow. She would go again if Jake liked.

She seemed in fact mildly amused by the idea that he could be so easily
pleased, and asked him later with her chin in the air if there were any
other odd jobs he would like her to perform.

But when Maud presently went to the piano, she came and sat on a low
chair near her and listened in absolute stillness while she played. They
were alone, and Maud played on and on, almost forgetful of her silent
companion, suffering her fingers to wander in unison with her thoughts.
All her life music had been her great joy and solace. She was not a
brilliant musician as was Saltash, but she had the gift of so steeping
herself in music that she could at times thereby express that which
otherwise would have been unutterable--the hidden emotions of her soul.

Nearly an ho