ay she would have liked to go to church, but a dread of
loquacious and inquisitive neighbors kept her a prisoner in the house.

On Monday morning she almost determined to go out for a walk but her
courage again failed her. Until noon the village street was dull and
lifeless, with only one or two people visible at a time, and yet she
dared not go down and walk through it. Were she to show herself, all
the idle shopkeepers would issue from their shops, to congratulate her
on the postmaster's victory, to inquire where he was spending his
holiday and why she hadn't gone for the holiday with him.

Nearly all day she sat by the window of the front room, staring at the
trite and familiar scene, and encouraging her thoughts to wander away
from her misery whenever they would consent to do so. A butcher's boy
leaned his bicycle against the curbstone in so careless a fashion that
it immediately fell down; Mr. Bates the corn merchant passed by with
an empty wagon; then Mr. Norton the vicar appeared, going from house
to house, distributing handbills of special services. And she wondered
if he and his wife had ever had a hidden domestic storm in their
outwardly tranquil existence. Mrs. Norton must have been quite pretty
once, and perhaps at that period she caused Mr. Norton anxieties. But
if she had ever needed forgiveness for some indiscretion or other, she
had obviously obtained it; and again the thought came strong and clear
that people who hold conspicuous positions--such as vicars,
tax-collectors, postmasters, and so on--owe a duty to the world as
well as to themselves. They must hush things up, and preserve
appearances: they can not wash their dirty linen in public.

After twelve o'clock there was much more to look at. The children came
shouting out of school, laborers passed to and fro on their way to
dinner, and with horns loudly blowing, three heavily-laden
chars-a-bancs arrived one after another from Rodhaven. The tourists
filled the street, and for about two hours the aspect of things was
lively and bustling. Then the horns sounded again, the huge vehicles
lumbered away, and the whole village relapsed into drowsiness and
inertia. Literally nothing to look at now.

But before tea time that afternoon she saw something in the street
that held her breathlessly attentive as long as it remained there. It
was Mr. Barradine, riding slowly toward her between the churchyard and
the Roebuck stables. She shrank back behind the musl