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THE TURNIP TOP: A STORY: BY CONSTANCE
SMEDLEY ARMFIELD
filtered through the blind-slats and the
the ground-floor sitting room moved her
to escape the rays. She was a youngish
lothes of country cut. Her thick shoes,
*ushed hair, and lounging way of sitting
ce of solitary, independent habits. She
             was refined and nervous-looking, though her skin was
tanned to wholesome brown; if it had not been for the hardness in
her eyes and mouth, she would have been beautiful. Brow and
eyes were open, even unusually honest in their expression, and her
features were not mean but generous in their modeling. Some
trouble had evidently seared a fine nature and driven her into her-
self. She was dulled, careless, self-engrossed, as if she had brooded
too much.
   The gaudily-covered magazine she was reading obviously did
not hold her attention. Her eyes strayed over the pages listlessly
and now and then remained fixed for minutes on one spot, staring
aimlessly.
   It was too hot to read, and she never could keep her mind on a
book. Besides, today her thoughts were perpetually harking for-
ward.
   In two hours more he should be here.
   He was her husband, but it would be like meeting a stranger.
She had known a dignified man, yes, dignified even though he was
not very old. He came of Calvinistic stock and inherited the grav-
ity and self-respect of his Covenanter forebears. He kept everyone
aloof: even she had always been uncomfortably conscious of his
dignity. One always felt one had to live up to it. The thought of
Henry in prison was even now an impossible anomaly. She couldn't
imagine him obeying orders.
   Besides, his whole appearance depended on his dignity. She
remembered him in the dock, separated from her and all their
friends as inexorably as if he had been in his coffin. His straight,
fine features, steel-gray eyes, and fair hair had stood out like a
cameo from the surrounding dinginess.
   But that was five years ago. Now she was facing the near future
when life would have to be taken up again. A dull fear eclipsed all
feelings about his return; wherever he went, there would always be
the risk of some one finding out. And one couldn't explain to peo-
ple he had not meant to do wrong.
   His own property was locked up in what he thought were safe
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