Mrs. Craighill sat in her upstairs sitting room, sewing. A wood fire crackled cosily; about her were the countless trifles with which a woman invites comfort and ease. The impression of smartness that Mrs. Craighill always gave was not lacking to-day. It may be inferred that she knew her own decorative values. The subdued blue of her gown matched the wallpaper--or seemed to. Her delicate features, the soft curve of her cheek, her fair round arms, free from the elbow, the careful disposition of her hair, swept high from her forehead, were items calculated to charm any eye. She turned her head a trifle, hearing a motor in the driveway below, and her hands fell to her lap with the bit of needlework she was engaged upon. When the car passed on to the garage she resumed her work, bending her head so that her neck presented its prettiest arch to the open door. She hummed softly as she heard Wayne’s step drawing near. When his voice sounded behind her she did not turn, but held up one hand, and waved it, calling a careless, familiar “hello” to his own greeting. He walked to the fire and swung round, facing her, his hands thrust in his pockets. “Well?” “I didn’t expect you home for luncheon. How did you leave Philadelphia?” “Oh, I left it with pleasure; the usual way.” “I suppose the amusing Mr. Wingfield took good care of you?” “He did. He’s an exemplary person. He took me to call on his mother’s relations--all a thousand years old--which is hardly what might be called devilish.” She continued to bend with a pretty gravity to her work, while he watched her, amused at the pains she took to ignore the fact that there was anything remarkable in her being in the house; then he laughed and stood close beside her, taking one of her hands. She caught it away quickly and nodded toward a seat, continuing to affect absorption. “Sit down, won’t you? I’m very, very busy, and this is most particular work; if I should make a mistake----” He obeyed, studying her with pleasure shining in his eyes for a moment of silence, then broke out laughing. “Sh-h!” She laid a finger on her lips, with a slight inclination of her head toward the door. “Did you tell them downstairs that you would be here for luncheon? Then ring for Annie and I’ll send word.” Until this was done she continued her refusal to meet his eyes. She inquired of the maid as to whether Mr. Wayne’s room was in order, and when the girl had gone she dropped her needle and said carelessly, as though the matter were of the lightest importance: “I had a cold and thought I’d better not risk the trip to Boston. You know I’m not used to this fly-by-night sleeping-car travel.” “Indeed? It’s very unfortunate that you were obliged to deny yourself so great a pleasure. I thought you were not subject to colds!” “I suppose it’s the change of climate--coming here so far inland. They say it does make a great difference.”