nbow tears flashed. "You never heard," she said.
"Uncle Ted died, the day before we were to sail." She stopped a
moment. "It left me alone and--and pretty desperate. I--I almost
telegraphed you."

"_Why_ didn't you?" he groaned.

"Because--what I said. I wouldn't sacrifice you." She paid no
attention to the look in his eyes. "Robin was going to my place in
Georgia--I told you I had a place? My father's old shooting-box. I'd
arranged for him to do that. With some people who needed it. So--I
went too. I took two trained nurses and some old souls--old sick
people. Yes, I did. Wasn't it queer of me? I'm always sorrier for
old people than for children. They realize, the old people. So I
scraped up a few astonished old parties, and they groaned and wheezed
and found fault, but had a wonderful winter. The first time I was ever
any good to anybody in my life. I thought I might as well do one job
before I petrified. And all winter Robin was talking about that
bone-ologist from France who had been in Forest Gate, and whom I
wouldn't see. Till at last he got me inspired, and I said I'd go to
France and see him. And I've just been. And he says--" suddenly the
bright, changing face was buried in her hands and she was sobbing as if
her heart would break.

McBirney's pulse stopped; he was terrified. "What?" he demanded.
"Never mind what he said, dear. I'll take care of you. Don't trouble,
my own--" And then again the sunshine flashed through the storm and
she looked up, all tears and laughter.

"He said I'd get well," she threw at him. "In time. With care. And
if you don't understand that I've got to cry when I'm glad, then we can
never be happy together."

"I'll get to understand," he promised, with a thrill as he thought how
the lesson would be learned. And went on: "There's another conundrum.
Of course--that man--he's not on earth--but how did you--kill him?"

The girl looked bewildered a moment. "Who? Oh! Alec. My dear--" and
she slid her hand into his as if they had lived together for
years--"the most glorious thing--he jilted me. He eloped with Natalie
Minturn--the California girl--the heiress. She had"--the girl laughed
again--"more money than I. And unimpeachable bones. She's a nice
thing," she went on regretfully. "I'm afraid she's too good for Alec.
But she liked him; I hope she'll go on liking him. It was a great
thing for me to get jilted. Any more questions in the Catechism