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Stefan's gift to her a fur-lined coat was so extravagant that she could derive no pleasure from it, and she had the impression that he had chosen it hurriedly, without much thought of what would best please her. From Constance she received a white sweater of very beautiful heavy silk, with a cap and scarf to match, but she thought bitterly that pretty things to wear were of little use to her now.

"You are the only creature I know just now, Jamie," Stefan said, "with any sense of proportion;" and these two outcasts from notice would tramp moodily through the woods, the boy faithfully imitating Stefan's slouch and his despondent way of carrying his hands thrust in his pockets. There were no more tales of Scotland for Jamie in these days, and as for Stefan he hardly saw his wife.

McEwan's face expanded into one of his huge smiles. "It's true, ye could not. That's the way God made ye, and I'll tell ye about that, too, some day," he said, rising to go. "Good-bye, Mr. Holmes," she smiled, as she saw him out. Before going to bed that night Mary examined her conscience. Why had she not been to town to see Stefan's work?

She talked over her plans with James, and before he left that afternoon their arrangements were made. On one point he was obliged to give way. Stefan's money, which he had returned to Mary before enlisting, was still intact, and she insisted it should be used for the expenses of the double journey.

She moved silently and quickly about, hung up his hat, stood the canvases in a corner, ordered coffee, rolls and eggs, and finally unlaced Stefan's shoes in spite of his rather horrified if feeble protest.

Mary took it for granted that their engagement would continue till Stefan's pictures were sold, till they had found work, till their future was in some way arranged. Stefan, who was enormously under her influence, and a trifle, in spite of his rapture, in awe of her sweet reasonableness, listened at first without demur.

Byrd, I warn you that my well-known critical faculty needs stimulation; I mean to drop in at the studio ere long to slam the latest masterpiece. So long," and he grinned himself out before Stefan's rising irritation had a chance to explode. "Why do you let that great tomfool call you by your first name, Mary?" he demanded, almost before the front door was shut.

But emotion lay deep in Mary she was ashamed that it should rise to facile tears. "Silly girl," she thought, and drying her eyes proceeded more calmly to her final task, which was to change her dress for one fitted to honor Stefan's homecoming. Hardly was she ready when she heard his feet upon the stair.

Though half dazed by the sudden subsidence of his plans, unable to face as yet the possible consequences, he had his pictures, and the names of the real dealers; confidence still buoyed him. Three hours later Mary, anxiously waiting, heard Stefan's step approach their bedroom door. Instantly her heart dropped like lead. She did not need his voice to tell her what those dragging feet announced.

Yet he had always known Farraday for one; and certainly Gunther, who modeled her, and McEwan, who dogged her footsteps, could admire her no less than the editor. The thought that his wife was sought after, that he was probably envied by other men, warmed Stefan's heart pleasantly, just as Constance intended it should.