He carried her letter with him to Cicely's wedding, and they all noticed with pleasure a new buoyancy in his walk and bearing, a keener light in his eyes, and the old true ring in his voice. There was never a shadow of envy in his heart as he watched Drexley's happiness. Joan and he saw them off at Charing Cross for the Continent, and they walked back to her rooms together.
"So you are really going home to Feldwick, Joan?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Yes. Since I left it I have done nothing but make mistakes. I think that the old life is best for me."
He glanced at her curiously a moment or two later as they crossed the street. She had grown older during the last few months, and there were streaks of grey in her hair. Yet the lines in her face were softer, the narrowness and suspicion were smoothed away; her eyes were still keen, but with a kindlier light. At her door, where he parted from her, she looked away across his shoulder.
"It is a wonderful city, this, Douglas," she said. "It has made a great man of you and a happy woman of Cissy."
"And you?" he asked gently.
"Well, it has taught me a little tolerance, I think," she said. "You know we Strongs are hill folk, our loves and hates are lasting and perhaps narrow. I have been a mistaken woman, but I have much to be thankful for. I came to my senses before any one was made to suffer through me. So now, good night, and good-by, Douglas. You bear me no ill-will, I know?"
"Not a shred," he answered, taking her hand into his. "You will miss
Cissy, I am afraid."
She sighed, and he saw something in her eyes which haunted him for long afterwards.