at times joan was more than half inclined to doubt the reality of some of those unique phases of existence to which her love affair introduced her. some experiences seemed beyond belief, even to an imagination stimulated by inordinate ambition and further excited by incessant novel-reading and theater-going.

on the friday morning following the receipt of helena's invitation she went shopping, squandering upwards of three weeks' savings with that delicious abandonment to extravagance which is possible only to a woman of supremely confident tomorrows. the hundreds she was in subsequent days to disburse as thoughtlessly never afforded her one-half the pleasure that accompanied the expenditure of those seventy hoarded dollars. (for aside from the rent of her room, her association with matthias had spared her nearly every other expense of daily life.)

among other things, she purchased for twenty-five dollars a simple evening frock eminently adapted to her requirements. a tolerably faithful copy of a foreign model, it had been designed to fetch a much higher price than that at which joan was able to acquire it at an end-of-the-season bargain sale. she tried it on before deciding, and had the testimony of the department store mirrors that it was wonderfully becoming to her years and type of beauty. and it was the only garment of its kind that she had ever owned.

as she hurried, tardily, to keep an appointment with matthias for lunch at martin's, she told herself that she would never know greater happiness. she could not rid her mind of that wonderful frock and the figure she had cut in it, posing in the dressing-room.

but after luncheon—over which they lingered until they were quite alone in the eastern dining-room—with some hesitation, and having assured himself that there was not even a waiter near at hand, matthias fumbled in one of his waistcoat pockets, produced a small leather-covered case, and passed it across the table.

"i'd meant to keep this till we got home," he said with an awkward smile. "but i don't think i can wait...."

joan opened the box—and drew the longest breath of her life. her heart seemed to leap and then stand stock-still for a full minute before she grasped the magnificence of his present: her engagement ring!

then and there the girl lost all touch with the tough verities of life; and throughout the day and until she lost consciousness in bed that night, a sensual enchantment held dominion over all her being....

nor was the great adventure of the visit to tanglewood of a nature calculated to dissipate that glamour—save, perhaps, in one untoward circumstance which, wholly unforeseen, could not have been provided against.

a woman less shrewd and intelligent than helena tankerville, and one as violently opposed to the match, might have planned that short week-end visit to influence and discourage the girl rather than matthias. but helena knew that contrast would have the desired effect only upon the man; to whom its significance would be in inverse ratio to the emphasis lent it. so with infinite tact and thoughtfulness joan's way was made smooth for her from the moment she alighted from the train until the moment of her leave-taking; and this without the least tangible suggestion that any especial consideration was being shewn her. the smallness of the party sanctioned informality; and george tankerville's obtuse kindness of heart (which permitted him to see nothing in the stratagems of his wife other than a desire to put the girl completely at her ease) facilitated matters immensely.

joan was spared the embarrassment of a maid—was, indeed, given no reason to believe there were any such servants attached to the establishment. suffered to unpack her modest effects and dispose of them herself, she received at helena's hands the indispensable service of "hooking-up." and her unpretentious, pretty frock was by no means overshadowed by helena's or by the unceremonious dinner jackets of the men; while the simplicity of the evening meal put her thoroughly at her ease, whose recently acquired but rather extensive acquaintance with new york restaurant ways and waiters robbed the attentions of a butler of their terrors.

nor was it, possibly, altogether a matter of chance that neighbouring friends telephoned an after-dinner invitation to helena and tankerville to run over and make up a table at auction: so that joan was left alone with her lover to become acquainted with and at home among the charms of tanglewood....

but it wasn't until the first hours of a still and splendid september sunday that her sense of wonder was quite ravished by the place: its foreign and luxurious atmosphere, the half-wild loveliness of its grounds, the perfection of its appointments and the uniquity of its location. then the sense of unreality resumed full sway over her perceptions: she seemed to move and have her being in a strange, new world of rare and iridescent witchery. and helena was at pains to leave her no time for doubts or analysis. they motored in the morning to the south shore and back, and after luncheon took the enchantress for a short spin up the sound, returning for tea upon the terrace....

tankerville and matthias were wrangling amiably about the least comfortless routes overland to the pacific; helena, with binoculars at the balustrade, was simulating an extravagant interest in the man?uvers of two small yachts far in the distance (and, in the breathing-space thus cunningly contrived, wildly ransacking a rather extensive fund of resource for some subject which might prove a common ground of interest between herself and her guest) and joan, in the depths of a basket-chair, while seeming smilingly to attend to the light banter of the men, was deeply preoccupied in consideration of her extraordinary sensation of comfort and security in this exotic environment. she was deliciously flattered by appreciation of her own ease and adaptability. the conclusion seemed inevitable that, somehow, strangely, nature had meant her for just such an existence as this.

the terrace was aflood with the golden glow of the westering sun—the season so far advanced that there was no discomfort in its warmth. the sound shone like a sapphire, still and vast, and the cup of the skies bending over it was flawless sapphire banded at its rim with an exquisite shade of amethyst. ashore, the wooded slopes were all aflame in the mortal passion of indian summer.

in the stirless, suave, and aromatic air hung an impalpable yet ineluctable hint of melancholy....

from landward, with unusual resonance in the deep quiet of that hour, sounded the long, dull, whining purr of a motor-car.

helena lowered the glasses, turned an ear to the sound, and came slowly back to the tea-table and joan. her faint smile, together with a slight elevation of her delicately darkened brows, indicated surprise.

engrossed in their argument, matthias and tankerville gave no heed to the threatened visitation.

resentfully, joan detached her attention from the diamond matthias had given her, and at discretion tossed aside a cigarette which she had been pretending to like because helena smoked quite openly, and it was consequently the smart thing to do.

undoubtedly the car was stopping on the drive. helena moved a few paces toward the house, paused, waited. a woman's laugh with an accent of cheerful excitement came to them. joan saw helena start and noticed matthias break off a sentence in the middle and swing round in his chair. immediately a woman ran through the doorway to the terrace, a light dust-wrap streaming from her shoulders. a man followed, but at the time joan hardly noticed him. the woman absorbed all her interest, even though it was an interest compounded of jealousy and hostility. she was unquestionably the loveliest creature joan had ever seen. without moving, but staring, the girl sat transfixed with distrust and poignant envy.

with a cry of wonder—"venetia!"—helena ran to greet these unpresaged guests.

meeting, the two women indulged in an embrace almost theatrically perfunctory. the commonplaces of such situations were breathlessly exchanged. then helena, disengaging turned to the man and extended a hand.

"well, mr. marbridge!..." she cried with a light note of semi-reproof in her laughter.

at this, with a brightening smile, marbridge bent over her hand, saying something indistinguishable to joan.

she was watching the meeting between matthias and venetia marbridge.

he held both her hands, and she permitted him to retain them, for a longer moment of silent greeting than joan thought necessary. but this circumstance alone betrayed whatever constraint was felt by either. a smile, vague and perhaps not lacking a thought of tender sadness, touched the lips and eyes of venetia. matthias returned his twisted and indefinitely apologetic grin.

"more than ever charming, venetia!"

"thank you, jack."

if there were any hint of challenge in her tone or her straightforward eyes, joan didn't detect it.

george tankerville submitted with open resignation to the embrace of his sister.

"i suppose i've got to stand for this," he observed with philosophy. "do you mean me to infer that you're humble and contrite?"

"not in the least," venetia retorted defiantly.

"oh, very well," said he. "that being the case, i extend to you my belated blessing. how did you leave things on the other side?"

"much as usual—and by steamer."

"when'd you get back?"

"last monday...."

venetia became openly aware of joan. matthias interposed.

"miss thursday—my fiancée. joan, this is mrs. marbridge."

"truly?"

the shock told; she had been playing off very deftly a painful contretemps, but this announcement dashed venetia. momentarily she hesitated, scarlet lips apart but inarticulate, widening eyes of violet a shade darker, with—if possible—a pallor deeper even than that most striking attribute of her beauty. but the check could have been apparent only to the initiate or to a strongly intuitive intelligence.

"i am so glad!" she cried with sincerity—"so glad for both of you!" impulsively she caught joan's hands, drew the girl to her—"may i, my dear? we're to be great friends, you know!"—kissed her; then swinging round—"vincent!" she called gaily. "such news! do come here immediately!"

marbridge showed a face strongly marked with the enquiry of his heavy, lifting eyebrows. his glance comprehended joan with kindling interest. with helena he approached, his heavy body rolling a little in spite of the elasticity of his stride.

"my husband, vincent marbridge. vincent, this is joan thursday. she's engaged to jack matthias. isn't it wonderful? and aren't they both fortunate? and isn't she pretty?"

marbridge's unctuous and intimate smile accompanied his reply: "yes to all—twice yes to your last question." his warm strong hand closed over joan's diffident fingers. "my heartiest congratulations to you both.... ah, mr. matthias, how are you? so we meet again—at tanglewood!"

the hands of the two men touched and fell apart. but this clue was wasted upon joan, who stood silently abashed and sullen with consciousness of her own inept awkwardness as contrasted with the amiable aplomb of these people with whom good breeding was a cult, the practice of the art of self-possession its primary rite.

to marbridge she stammered: "pleased to meet you." and immediately felt her face burning and as if she could faint for sheer mortification.

it was helena who, pitiful for the gaucherie of the girl, saved the situation by raising the issue of tea. venetia demurred: they were, it seemed, visiting friends in southampton; had driven over only for a call of a moment; would be late for dinner if they tarried. but marbridge settled the question by dropping solidly into a chair and announcing that there he was and there would stay pending either tea or a highball. venetia, unable to disguise a flush of resentment, showed her back to her husband and devoted herself to george tankerville. as helena summoned a servant, marbridge hitched his chair closer and inaugurated a rather one-sided conversation with joan.

again in her basket-chair, knees daintily crossed in imitation of a pose mentally photographed from the stage, joan experienced renewed consciousness of her attractions, and with it regained a little ease. it could scarcely be otherwise under the wondering regard that marbridge bent upon the girl. his admiration was unconcealed, and to joan at first the sweeter since it was diverted from his wife.

but insensibly the situation began to affect her less pleasantly. she grew sensitive to an effect of strain in the atmosphere, made up in equal parts of venetia's indignation, matthias's annoyance, helena's suave but quite fruitless efforts to interpose and distract the interest of marbridge to herself.

and there was a confusing and disturbing element of familiar and personal significance in the man's undeviating and brazen stare. truly, in the older sense of the word, impudent, it hinted an understanding so complete as to be almost shameful—worse, it educed a real if unspoken response from the girl; unwillingly she admitted the existence of a bond of sympathy between herself and this man whom she had never seen before, a feeling more true and intimate than that which her association with matthias had inspired, than any she had ever known. for a time she fought against this impression, in a bewilderment that evoked from her only witless and hesitant responses. then suddenly encountering his eyes—actually against her will—she was stricken dumb and breathless by comprehension of their intent; in effect, they stripped her: bodily and mentally they made her naked to this man.

nor was this the sum: for the merest fraction of a moment joan felt herself answering: in her bosom a strange oppression, strangely troubling and sweet; in her own eyes a kindling light, sympathetic, shameless....

instantly quenched: distress and affronted modesty incarnadined her face, veiled her eyes. almost unconsciously she turned away. indistinctly she saw the white face of venetia, set and hard, with a scornful lip for her husband. shifting to view the object of his admiration, it showed no change of expression. her voice cut incisively through his lazy, drawling accents.

"this is quite impossible," she said coolly, consulting a jewelled watch on her slender, gloved wrist. "if we stay another instant we shall be unforgivably late. but"—to helena—"thank you so much, dear, for wanting us to stop.... vincent, i am going."

she moved slowly toward the house. marbridge kept his seat.

"nonsense!" he expostulated. "plenty of time. tea's just coming. and i'm dying the death of a dog with thirst."

"i am going," venetia repeated in an uninflected voice.

his dark face darkening, marbridge glanced to helena, to tankerville, ignored matthias, looked back to joan: gaining as little encouragement from her, as from his host and hostess, since she dared not again meet his gaze. with a movement of his heavy shoulders and a chuckle he heaved himself out of the chair.

"oh, all right," he called indulgently to his wife: "coming!... all women are crazy, anyhow," he confided to the others. "you've got to let 'em have their own way. so—good night. hope i'll have the pleasure of seeing you-all soon again."

he extended a hand to helena—who gave him cool fingertips—and paused before joan.

"au revoir, miss thursday...."

the girl was unconscious of the proffered hand. her eyes averted, she murmured a good night.

his smile broadening, marbridge turned to matthias; received from him a look that was as good as a kick, gave back a grin of graceless effrontery; and swinging, linked arms with tankerville.

"come along, george—take a look at our new car. she's a wonder!"

civilly playing his part, tankerville submitted.

they disappeared—marbridge gabbling cheerfully—into the house. joan uncurtained her eyes. her lover, with a face of thunder, was looking toward his aunt; who made a slight negative motion of her head, with an admonitory flutter of one hand: a servant with a tray was drawing near. matthias answered her with a gesture of controlled wrath; turned to the balustrade; stood there staring straight into the angry sunset glow.

on the drive a motor snorted, snored, drew away with a whine diminuendo....

throughout the remainder of joan's visit the incident was not once referred to. but it had had its curious and disturbing effect upon the girl. she remembered it all very vividly, reviewed it with insatiable inquisitiveness. from this she derived a feeling, which she resented, of having witnessed a scene fraught with significance indecipherable to her.