ter to stay and amuse Toffy!' said Jane, with
compunction. There was a tired white look on Mrs. Ogilvie's face, and
an appearance of fatigue in her movements which neither her supreme art
of dressing nor the careful manipulation of light in the room wholly
concealed.

'Ah, now you are beginning to repent!' said Mrs. Ogilvie. Only her
good manners prevented her remark having a sneer in it. 'That will
spoil your evening, you foolish child, and it will not make mine more
amusing.'

'But I am thinking of you,' said Jane.

'Do not think of me,' said Mrs. Ogilvie, laying her hand for a moment
lightly upon the girl's shoulder.

Jane walked down the hillside and stopped at the edge of the wood to
see the young pheasants, and then went on again, swinging a crooked
walking-stick and singing in a voice clear and sweet, but somewhat out
of tune, snatches of songs which she had picked up from Peter, humming
the ridiculous words in a sort of unconscious happiness. She walked
with a raking grace which became her as wings become a bird or a long
swinging stride a racer. The twilit woods held no fears for her:
imagination never peopled Jane's world with bogies. The perfect poise
of her figure showed a latent energy and physical strength in spite of
her slender build, and her clear complexion and abundant brown hair and
white, even teeth lent an appearance of something essentially wholesome
to a face that at all times looked handsome and well-bred.

She called good night to the lodge-keeper as she passed through the
gates and found her way back to the high road, until, by a short-cut
down the hill, she reached her aunt's charming gardens, and the wide,
low house with its air of repose and comfort, and the long French
windows opening on to the quiet, smooth-shaven lawns.

Peter was waiting for her on the doorstep and was endeavouring not to
fuss; if only he had known by which path Jane would return he would
have liked to go and meet her, and the fact of having missed a walk
with her made him impatient. 'I thought you must be lost,' he said;
'what kept you, Jane? Why did you stay so long?'

When Jane Erskine was away people were apt to ask on her return why she
had stayed so long. Miss Abingdon and General Erskine, who divided her
time between them, were jealous if even a day of their fair share of
Jane was deducted by one or the other. There had been times when Miss
Abingdon had unscrupulously pleaded illness as a means