"Yes," said Wyllard simply, "in every way. Still, she would have a
great deal to bear."

Agatha's face softened. "Ah," she said, "she would not grudge the
effort in the case of one she loved."

Then she looked up again with a smile. "I wonder," she added, "if you
really thought I should flinch."

"When I first heard of it, I thought it quite likely. Then when I read
your letter my doubts vanished."

He saw he had not been judicious, for there was, for the first time, a
trace of hardness in the girl's expression.

"He showed you that?" she asked.

"One small part of it," said Wyllard. "I want to say that when I saw
this house, and how you seemed fitted to it, my misgivings about
Gregory's decision troubled me once more. Now"--and he made a little
impressive gesture--"they have vanished altogether, and they'll never
come back again."

He spoke as he felt. This girl, he fancied, would feel the strain; but
it seemed to him that she had strength enough to bear it cheerfully.
In spite of her daintiness, she was one who, in time of stress, could
be depended on. He often remembered afterwards how they had sat
together in the little, luxuriously furnished room, she leaning back,
with the soft light on her delicately tinted face, in her big, low
chair. In the meanwhile she said nothing, and by and bye he looked up
at her.

"It's curious that I had your photograph ever so long, and never
thought of showing it Gregory," he said.

Agatha smiled. "I suppose it is," she admitted. "After all, except
that it might have been a relief to Major Radcliffe if he had met you
sooner, the fact that you didn't show it Gregory doesn't seem of any
particular consequence."

Wyllard was not quite sure of this. He had thought about this girl
often, and had certainly been conscious of a curious thrill of
satisfaction when he had met her at the stepping-stones a few days
earlier. That feeling had also suddenly disappeared when he had
learned that she was his comrade's promised wife. He had, however,
during the last hour or two made up his mind to think no more of her.

"Well," he said, "the next thing is to arrange for Mrs. Hastings to
meet you in London, or, perhaps, at the Grange. Her husband is a
Canadian, a man of education, who has quite a large homestead not far
from Gregory's. Her folks are people of station in Montreal, and I
feel sure that you'll like her."

They decided that he was to ask Mrs. Hastings to st