The morning was very mild, and she left the outer door open as she went
quickly to and fro with elasticity of spirit as well as step. It was pleasant
to have her efforts appreciated and almost as grateful to hear the swelling
harmony of song from the awakening birds. The slight cloud that had fallen on
her thoughts the evening before had lifted. She felt that she understood
Holcroft better, and saw that his feeling was only that of honest friendliness
and satisfaction. She had merely to recognize and respond to so much only and
all would be well. Meantime, she desired nothing more, and he should be
thoroughly convinced of this fact. She grew positively light-hearted over the
fuller assurance of the truth that although a wife, she was not expected to
love--only to be faithful to all his interests. This, and this only, she
believed to be within her power.

Holcroft departed in the serenity characteristic of one's mood when the
present is so agreeable that neither memories of the past nor misgivings as to
the future are obtrusive. He met Watterly in town, and remarked, "This is
another piece of good luck. I hadn't time to go out to your place, although I
meant to take time."

"A piece of good luck indeed!" Tom mentally echoed, for he would have been
greatly embarrassed if Holcroft had called. Mrs. Watterly felt that she had
been scandalized by the marriage which had taken place in her absence, and was
all the more resentful for the reason that she had spoken to a cousin of
uncertain age and still more uncertain temper in behalf of the farmer. In
Mrs. Watterly's estimate of action, it was either right, that is, in
accordance with her views, or else it was intolerably wrong and without
excuse. Poor Tom had been made to feel that he had not only committed an
almost unpardonable sin against his wife and her cousin, but also against all
the proprieties of life. "The idea of such a wedding taking place in my rooms