“Thank you,” said Nell somewhat pathetically. “It’s rather hard to be judged by one’s men-folk, I sometimes think. They can be such beasts.” “I expect it depends how you take them,” said Frances practically. Nell looked at her with a hint of envy. “It’s all right for you,” she said. “You’re not under any man’s heel.” “I have been,” said Frances, with a sudden memory of the Bishop. “But I never shall be again.” “You will be if you marry,” said Nell. “Oh, I don’t think so,” smiled Frances. “But as I am not going to marry, that is beside the point.” “How nice to be sure you don’t want to!” said the girl with a sigh. Whereat Frances laughed with a curious lightheartedness. “I didn’t say that, did I? But women of my age think twice before they sign away their liberty.” “Your age!” Nell stared. “Why, I thought you were quite young!” she said, then blushed violently and turned to go. “Oh, I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that—but it’s true!” The door closed behind her upon the words, and Frances was left still laughing. “What can have come to them all?” she said. “Me—young! If I am, it’s something in the air that has made me so. I never used to be!” And then a fantastic thought came to her, checking her laughter. She had never been young before. She had never had time to be young. Could it be possible that for her, here at Tetherstones, life had but just begun? If so—if so—was she right to turn away from aught that life might have to offer? CHAPTER XI FAILURE Well as she knew the way to the Stones from the farm, she had never trodden it save on that one occasion in the fog when Ruth had been her guide. They were approached by a steep and winding lane that led up between high banks to the still steeper track on the open moor that ran directly to them. The whole distance could not be more than half-a-mile, she reflected, as she sat in her room that evening, considering the task that lay before her.