o Dick that at
one abrupt movement she would turn and run.

Mr. Hazlewood pressed forward to greet her and she smiled with a warmth
of gratitude. Dick, watching her from the bay window, was surprised by
the delicacy of her face, by a look of fragility. She was dressed very
simply in a coat and short skirt of white, her shoes and her gloves were
of white suede, her hat was small.

"And this is my son Richard," said Mr. Hazlewood; and Dick came forward
out of the bay. Stella Ballantyne bowed to him but said no word. She
was taking no risks even at the hands of the son of her friend. If
advances of friendliness were to be made they must be made by him, not
her. There was just one awkward moment of hesitation. Then Dick
Hazlewood held out his hand.

"I am very glad to meet you, Mrs. Ballantyne," he said cordially, and he
saw the blood rush into her face and the fear die out in her eyes.

The neighbourhood, to quote Mr. Hazlewood, had not been kind to Stella
Ballantyne. She had stood in the dock and the fact tarnished her.
Moreover here and there letters had come from India. The verdict was
inevitable, but--but--there was a doubt about its justice. The full
penalty--no. No one desired or would have thought it right, but something
betwixt and between in the proper spirit of British compromise would not
have been amiss. Thus gossip ran. More-over Stella Ballantyne was too
good-looking, and she wore her neat and simple clothes too well. To some
of the women it was an added offence when they considered what she might
be wearing if only the verdict had been different. Thus for a year Stella
had been left to her own company except for a couple of visits which the
Reptons had paid to her. At the first she had welcomed the silence, the
peace of her loneliness. It was a balm to her. She recovered like a
flower in the night. But she was young--she was twenty-eight this
year--and as her limbs ceased to be things of lead and became once more
aglow with life there came to her a need of companionship. She tried to
tramp the need away on the turf of her well-loved downs, but she failed.
A friend to share with her the joy of these summer days! Her blood
clamoured for one. But she was an outcast. Friends did not come her way.
Therefore she had gratefully received old Mr. Hazlewood in her house, and
had accepted, though with some fear, his proposal that she should lunch
at the big house and make the acquaintance of his son.

She was nerv