Two months later a certain tension in the rectory of St. Antipas was
temporarily relieved. Like the spring of a watch wound too tightly, it
snapped one day at Nancy's declaration that she would go to Edom for a
time--would go, moreover, without a reason--without so much as a woman's
easy "because." This circumstance, while it froze in the bud every
available objection to her course, quelled none of the displeasure that
was felt at her woman's perversity.

Her decision was announced one morning after a sleepless night, and
after she had behaved unaccountably for three days.

"You are not pleasing Allan," was Aunt Bell's masterly way of putting
the situation. Nancy laughed from out of the puzzling reserve into which
she had lately settled.

"So he tells me, Aunt Bell. He utters it with the air of telling me
something necessarily to my discredit--yet I wonder whose fault it
really is."

"Well, of all things!" Aunt Bell made no effort to conceal her
amazement.

"It isn't necessarily mine, you know." Before the mirror she brought the
veil nicely about the edge of her hat, with the strained and solemn
absorption of a woman in this shriving of her reflection so that it may
go out in peace.

"My failure to please Allan, you know, may as easily be due to his