m which is seldom used. But the constraint wore off at the table. Most
of those present were striving to set Stella Ballantyne at her ease, and
she was at a comfortable distance from Mrs. Pettifer, with Mr. Hazlewood
at her side. She was conscious that she was kept under observation and
from time to time the knowledge made her uncomfortable.

"I am being watched," she said to her host.

"You mustn't mind," replied Mr. Hazlewood, and the smile came back to her
lips as she glanced round the table.

"Oh, I don't, I don't," she said in a low voice, "for I have
friends here."

"And friends who will not fail you, Stella," said the old man. "To-night
begins the great change. You'll see."

Robert Pettifer puzzled her indeed more than his wife. She was plain to
read. She was frigidly polite, her enemy. Once or twice, however, Stella
turned her head to find Robert Pettifer's eyes resting upon her with a
quiet scrutiny which betrayed nothing of his thoughts. As a matter of
fact he liked her manner. She was neither defiant nor servile, neither
loud nor over-silent. She had been through fire; that was evident. But it
was evident only because of a queer haunting look which came and went in
her dark eyes. The fire had not withered her. Indeed Pettifer was
surprised. He had not formulated his expectations at all, but he had not
expected what he saw. The clear eyes and the fresh delicate colour, her
firm white shoulders and her depth of bosom, forced him to think of her
as wholesome. He began to turn over in his mind his recollections of her
case, recollections which he had been studious not to revive.

Halfway through the dinner Stella lost her uneasiness. The lights, the
ripple of talk, the company of men and women, the bright dresses had
their effect on her. It was as though after a deep plunge into dark
waters she had come to the surface and flung out her arms to the sun. She
ceased to notice the scrutiny of the Pettifers. She looked across the
table to Dick and their eyes met; and such a look of tenderness
transfigured her face as made Mrs. Pettifer turn pale.

"That woman's in love," she said to herself and she was horrified. It
wasn't Dick's social position then or the shelter of his character that
Stella Ballantyne coveted. She was in love. Mrs. Pettifer was honest
enough to acknowledge it. But she knew now that the danger which she had
feared was infinitely less than the danger which actually was.

"I must have it out w