s," she corrected
softly, "I should like him if it were not for John."

"You compare him with John?"

"Don't you?"

"Naturally. Of course the Governor loses by that."

"Who wouldn't?"

Her face flushed at the thought, and as Stephen watched her, he asked in
a gentler voice, "Are you really to be married in June?"

She smiled an assent, with her dreaming gaze on the young leaves and the
blue sky.

"Are you happy?" he persisted.

Her smile answered him again. "One dreads the lonely fireside as one
grows older." Then suddenly, as if the shadow of a cloud had drifted
over the bright sky, he saw the smile fade from her lips and the glow
from her upraised eyes. Somewhere within her brain a voice as hollow as
an echo was repeating, "_Isn't that life--sparrows for larks always?_"

"Well, you know what I feel about you, and what I think about Benham,"
replied Stephen. "You two together stand for all that I admire." As if
ashamed of the tone of sentiment, he continued carelessly after a
moment: "Vetch is very far from being a Benham, and yet there is
something about the man that holds one's attention. People are for ever
discussing him. A little while ago we were talking about his personal
peculiarities and his political offences. Now we are wondering how he
will handle this strike if it comes off; and what effect it will have on
his career? Benham, of course, thinks that he is an instrument in the
hands of a political group; that his office was the price they paid him
not to interfere in the strike. As for me I have no opinion. I am
waiting to see what will happen."

They had reached the old print shop; and, as they paused beneath the
cedars in the front yard, Stephen glanced up at the window under the
quaint shingled roof. The upper storey, he knew, was rented to a couple
of tenants, and he was not surprised when he saw the curtains of dotted
swiss pushed aside and a woman's face look down on him over the red
geranium on the window-sill. The face was familiar; but, while he stared
back at it, searching his memory for a resemblance, the white curtains
dropped together again, veiling the features. Where had he seen that
woman before? What association of ideas did the sight of her recall? In
a flash, while he still groped through mental obscurity, light broke on
him.

"Who is that woman, Corinna?" he asked. "What do you know of her?"

"That woman?" Corinna repeated; then, as he lifted his eyes to the
window, she ad