you do—I am glad all the same.—I am glad to have known you, whatever happens.'
Making no reply, Marthe Ludérac went on ahead.
The path ran steeply down among the trees. Below them they heard the rushing of the mountain torrent and saw its passionately hurrying gleam, now here, now there, among the spangled branches. Marthe Ludérac, though she went so swiftly, not turning to look behind, did not forget her friend, for she would pause, when a branch crossed the way, to hold it back for Jill, but Jill knew that the unspoken name separated them as truly as if Graham had walked between them.
Suddenly the Manoir roof appeared below among its sycamores. Marthe stopped short. 'It is my hour for reading. Will you come in?'
Jill hesitated. 'No; not this morning. This afternoon, perhaps.'
It was Marthe now who paused. 'Your husband does not come this afternoon to paint her portrait?'
'I don't know,' said Jill miserably. They stood there; she was still behind Marthe.
'Then, as if forcing herself, Marthe Ludérac turned round and faced her friend. 'That story. Does your husband know?'
Jill took breath. Her eyes on Marthe's were wide. 'Yes,' she said.
'It was he who told you of it?'
'Yes.'
