That day had passed wearily enough to James Forster. From the moment he had entered the office he had been able to think of nothing but his wife; so great was his anxiety and his eagerness to see her that he left business two hours before his usual time, and hurried home. It was not fair to her, he thought, that he should spend so many hours of the day away from her side. He pictured her at home, sitting disconsolately beside his lonely hearth. When he reached the house, however, he was disenchanted. He went up to the drawing-room and found his sister prim and neat as usual, working at some simple embroider work, and keeping an eye upon the child, who played at her feet. She looked surprised to see her brother at such an early hour. ‘Has anything happened, James?’ she said. He laughed a little impatiently. ‘Why, Margaret, have I grown such a methodical old fellow that you must imagine something has happened merely because I come home a couple of hours before dinner time? No, nothing has happened. I hurried home because I wanted to have a talk with Madeline. Where is she?’ ‘Madeline is out.’ ‘Out?’ ‘Yes, she has been out all day.’ ‘Why, where has she gone to?’ ‘Really, James, I am not Madeline’s keeper. Since she didn’t choose to tell me I thought it was not my duty to ask. I only know that she went out walking all the morning, and that immediately after lunch she went out driving. I have not seen her since.’ ‘Why, I thought when she went out she generally took the boy?’ ‘She has always taken him before, but she did not want him to-day. She said it was necessary for her to go alone.’ Miss Forster concluded with a significant ‘Hem!’ which spoke volumes. Forster made no reply; he turned away, went to his study, and sat there to await his wife’s return. One hour, two hours passed. She did not come. The first dinner bell rang--he rose to go to his room, and as he was crossing the hall he heard his wife’s knock at the door. ‘So late!’ he murmured. ‘Where can she have been at this hour?’ Then he thought of his sister’s peculiar manner when she had spoken to him, and instead of waiting to see his wife come in he went straight up to his room. When he went down to dinner he found Madeline already at the table. Her face was paler than it had been on the preceding night, and there was the same strange, wild light in her eyes. Was it his fancy again, or did she really shrink from him when he put his arms around her and kissed her cold cheek? Why did she flush and look uneasily about the room when he asked her innocently enough what interesting appointment she could possibly have to keep her out all day? There was certainly something the matter which he was faintly conscious of, but which he could not possibly understand.