the fair down on his cheek, the skin burned brown to the rim of his gray eyes, the harsh and diffident masculinity of him, I found comfort in remembering that there was a physical gallantry about him which would still, even when the worst had happened, leap sometimes to the joy of life. Always, to the very end, when the sun shone on his face or his horse took his fences well, he would screw up his eyes and smile that little stiff-lipped smile. I nursed a feeble glow at that. "We must ride a lot," I planned. And then Kitty's heels tapped on the polished floor, and her skirts swished as she sat down in the arm-chair, and I was distressed by the sense, more tiresome than a flickering light, of some one fretting.
She said:
"I wish she would hurry up. She's got to do it sooner or later."
My spirit was asleep in horror. Out there Margaret was breaking his heart
