easy, half-languid step, even a gay sort of courage in his bearing. The
liquor he had drunk brought the colour to his lips. They were now hot
and red, and his eyes had a singular feverish brilliancy, in keeping with
the hectic flush on his cheek. He had dismissed the subject of his
illness almost immediately, and Christine's adaptable nature had
instantly responded to his mood.

He asked her questions about the country-side, of their neighbours, of
the way they lived, all in an easy, unintrusive way, winning her
confidence and provoking her candour.

Two or three times, however, her face suddenly flushed with the memory
of the scene in the Manor, and her first real awakening to her social
insufficiency; for she of all the family had been least careful to see
herself as others might see her. She was vain; she was somewhat of a
barbarian; she loved nobody and nobody's opinion as she loved herself and
her own opinion. Though, if any people really cared for her, and she for
them, they were the Regimental Surgeon and Shangois the notary.

Once, as they walked on, she turned and looked back at the Manor House,
but only for an instant. He caught the glance, and said:

"You'll like to live there, won't you?"

"I don't know," she answered almost sharply. "But if the Casimbaults
liked it, I don't see why we shouldn't."

There was a challenge in her voice, defiance in the little toss of her
head. He liked her spirit in spite of the vanity. Her vanity did not
concern him greatly; for, after all, what was he doing here? Merely