be, and I dare say it will
ease your feelings if you talk about him again; at least, it will help
you to formulate your reasons for going out to him. I'll listen
patiently, and try not to be uncharitable."

Agatha fell in with the suggestion. It was a relief to talk, and she
had also a certain respect, which she would not always admit, for her
companion's shrewdness. She meant to go, but she desired to ascertain
how a less interested person would regard the course she had decided on.

"I have known Gregory since I was a girl," she said.

Winifred pursed her lips up. "I understood you met him at the Grange,
and you were only there for a few weeks once a year. After all, that
isn't a very great deal. It seems he fell in love with you, which is,
perhaps, comprehensible. What I don't quite know the reason for is why
you fell in love with him."

"Ah," said Agatha, "you have never seen Gregory."

"I haven't," said Winifred sourly; "I have, however, seen his picture,
and one must admit that he's reasonably good-looking. In fact, I've
seen quite an assortment of them, but it's, perhaps, significant that
the last was taken some years ago."

Agatha smiled. "Can a photograph show the clean, sanguine temperament
of a man, his impulsive generosity, and cheerful optimism?"

Miss Rawlinson rose, and critically surveyed the photograph on the
mantel. "I don't want to be discouraging, but after studying that one
I'm compelled to admit that it can't. No doubt it's the artist's
fault, but I'm willing to admit that a young girl would be rather apt
to credit a man with a face like that with qualities he didn't
possess." Then she sat down again with a thoughtful expression. "The
fact is, you set him up on a pedestal and burned incense to him when
you were not old enough to know any better, and when he came home for a
few weeks four years ago you promised to marry him. Now it seems he's
ready at last, and wants you to go out. Perhaps it doesn't affect the
question, but if I'd promised to marry a man in Canada he'd certainly
have to come for me. Isn't there a certain risk in the thing?"

"A risk?"

Winifred nodded. "Yes," she said, "rather a serious one. Four years
is a long time, and the man may have changed. In a new country where
everything's different it must be a thing they're rather apt to do."

A faint, half-compassionate, half-tolerant smile crept into Agatha's
eyes. The mere idea that the sunny-tempered,