The weeks went by. Gabriel Stanton coming and going, staying always at the local hotel. Ever more secure in his position with her, but never taking advantage of it. “He is naturally of a cold nature,” she argued. And once her confidant was Peter Kennedy and she compared the two of them. This was in early days, before her treatment of Peter had subdued him. “What’s he afraid of?” Peter asked brusquely. “Until the decree has been made absolute I am not free.” “So what he is afraid of is the King’s Proctor?” “Don’t.” “His precious respectability, the great house of Stanton.” “You take it all wrong, you don’t understand. How should you?” “Don’t I? I wish I’d half his chances.” “You are really not in the same category of men. It is banal—I have never fully realised the value of a banal phrase before, but you are ‘not fit to wipe the mud off his shoes.’” “Because I am a country doctor.” “Because you are—Peter Kennedy.” She knew then how comparatively thick-skinned he was; that if he had some sense or senses _in excelsis_, in others he was lacking, altogether lacking and unconscious. It is not paradoxical but plain that the more she saw of Gabriel Stanton the less heed she took of Peter Kennedy’s freedom of speech and ways. The two men were as apart as the poles, that they both adored her proved nothing but her undoubted charm. She was not quite looking forward, like Gabriel Stanton, through the “decree absolute” to marriage. She lived in the immediate present; in the Saturdays to Mondays when she tortured Gabriel Stanton and in a way was tortured by him. For she had never met so fine a brain, nor honour and simplicity so clean and clear, and she was upborne by and with him. And the Tuesdays to Fridays she had attacks or crises of the nerves and Kennedy alternately doctored and clumsily courted her. There came a time when she wrote and asked Gabriel to bring his sister next time he came, and that both of them should stay in the house with her, at Carbies. It was clear, if it had not been put into actual words, that they would marry as soon as she was free, and she thought it would please him that she should recognise the position. “I want to know her. Tell her I am a friend of yours who is interested in Christian Science, then she won’t think it strange that I should invite her here.” She was not frank enough to say “since she is to be my sister-in-law.” Gabriel, nevertheless, was translated when the letter came, and answered it rapturously. The invitation to his sister seemed to admit his footing, to make the future more definite and domestic. But if you want me to stay away I will stay away. Remember it is your wishes not mine that count. I tired you, perhaps? Did I tire you? God bless you!