"It’s what you haven’t done. We expect people to come here worn and weary and then blossom like the rose. You’ve gone back on the tradition." She stretched a hand for a bundle of knitting—a soldier’s muffler—on the table beside her: "I don’t feel worn or weary and I’m sorry I look so." "Oh, you always _look_ lovely," he hastily assured her. "I didn’t mean that it wasn’t becoming. But—er—er—what I wanted to say was—er—why is it?" Miss Maitland began to knit, her face bent over the work, her dark head backed by the green distances of the lawn. Ferguson thought she had the most beautifully shaped head he had ever seen. He would like to have leaned back in his chair studying its classic outline. But he was there for a purpose and he held himself sternly to it, looking at her profile and trying to forget that it was as fine as her head. "I don’t know why it is," she answered, "but I do know that you’re not very complimentary." "If you give me a dare like that I’ll show you how complimentary I _can_ be. But I’ll put that off until later. What I think is that you’re worrying—that the robbery has got on your nerves." "Why should it get on my nerves?" He was aware of her eyes—diverted from the knitting—looking curiously at him: "Why, it’s been so—so—unpleasant, all this fuss and publicity. It’s been a shock." Her hands with the knitting dropped into her lap. She was now staring fixedly at him: "Do you mean that I’m worrying because I think I may be suspected of it?" He was shocked to angry repudiation. "Good Lord, no! What a thing to say!" She took up her work, and answered with cool composure: "Nevertheless I _have_ wondered if anybody ever thought it. You see I’m the only one in the house—the only one who knows the combination—who _is_ a sort of stranger. Dixon and Isaac are like members of the family." "Don’t talk such rubbish," he protested, then leaning nearer, "Have you had _that_ on your mind all this time? Is _that_ what’s made the change?" She looked up at him, startled: "Change—what change?" "Change in you. Yes," in answer to the disturbed inquiry of her glance, "there is one. I’ve noticed it; other people have." "What do you mean?" "Why, you’re different, you’ve lost your good spirits. You’re not like you were before this happened." Her response came with something combative in its countering quickness: "I’m busier than I used to be. Since the robbery I’ve taken over a good deal of the housekeeping. Mrs. Janney has been much more upset than you guess." "And you’re so withdrawn, keep more to yourself. I used to find you about when I came over; now I almost never see you." The interview had taken on the character of a verbal duel, he thrusting, she parrying, both earnest and insistent. "I’ve just told you; I have more work, I’ve not the leisure I used to have." "So busy you have to shun people?" "That’s absurd, you imagine it. I’ve never shunned any one and there’s no reason why I should."