nian came.

Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail that
evening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, and
she carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. She
passed those who were surmising what her story might be, who were
telling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more than
they. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, and
spoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's foster
mother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed.

Cornish stepped down and overtook her.

"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two--"

She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night--could you--" It
was as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease.

Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed.

"Come for supper," Lulu said.

Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be.... Well, say! Such was his acceptance.

He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in the
country with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return.

Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at
ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It
became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was
_there_. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had
picked flowers for the table--a task coveted by her but usually
performed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled a
vase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had made
ice-cream.

"I don't see what Di can be thinking of," Lulu said. "It seems like
asking you under false--" She was afraid of "pretences" and ended
without it.

Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he said
contentedly.

"Kind of a relief, _I_ think, to have her gone," said Mrs. Bett, from
the fulness of something or other.

"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile.

"Why, my land, I love her," Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles and
chitters."

Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straight
face. The honest fellow now laughed loudly.

"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so _very_ much in love." And again
she thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinks
Ninian got tired of me." Deep in her heart there abode her certainty
that this was not so.

By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and L