It was very quaint, and old, and beautiful, and she peopled it with happy folk, and happy voices, not all grown up. Standing in the empty rooms, with doors hanging melancholy on their hinges, she saw it a nest of warmth, and love, and laughter, heard the cheery voice, the ringing tread that made the sweetest music in all the world to her--felt with a passion of longing, Chris's arm round her shoulder, and his hard, lean young face pressed close to hers.... She came to herself with a start, and there rushed over her the memory of a big house in town, all swept and garnished, waiting for her to walk in, and take possession.... She covered her eyes with her hands as if to shut out the face of the man who would share it with her.... strange that what held all Heaven to Lossie, should be so hateful to herself ... for both would have regarded the world well lost for the man they loved, yet the world, not that particular man, was to be their portion. The girls were better friends now than they had ever been, greatly to the delight of Lavinia (who held a brief for unsatisfactory people), for generous Gay had come to understand Lossie better now, discovered how much worse her bark was than her bite. Selfish she undoubtedly was, and in some things unprincipled, but, like many other idle, clever women, who have no hobby to occupy their time, no great love, no real work to sweeten their lives, she had turned her unused energies into mischief, talked scandal, done spiteful things, mainly for want of something better to do. Certainly she had many things to embitter her that Gay had not, for by her own recent experiences, Gay knew that suffering of a certain kind does not ennoble, on the contrary, it tends to deteriorate the character, and ruin the temper. With the ease of mind that wealth brings, Lossie might develop into a very different woman--and yet--and yet--now and again would come to Gay flashes of insight, in which she seemed to see poor blundering George Conant, a mere hopeless pawn in the game that Lossie was playing with such consummate audacity and skill. CHAPTER XXXIII THE GODS DECIDE Rensslaer never spoke of Chris, but one night, when Carlton had gone back to town after spending the day at Elsinore, he said: "Mr. Mackrell seems to dislike Captain Conant very much." "Yes." "Then he had better cut out Captain Conant, and marry Miss Lossie himself," said Rensslaer quietly. Gay laughed. These two always understand one another, almost as well, Gay thought, only differently, as she and Chris did. And Gay knew his story now, shyly suggested rather than told, a story of self-denial, of self-abnegation for the sake of one loved only too truly and well. "They are admirably well suited to each other," said Rensslaer. "She adores _him_, and your coldness, and his male dislike of Captain Conant, are impelling him naturally towards her--a little push, and the thing is done."