s-suit, and Mrs. Nancy in thin black with
pearls, and St. Michael groomed and shining.

"It was all quite like a slice of Heaven after my hard days nursing
Peggy. We had coffee in the library, and then Dr. Richard and I went
into the music-room and I played for him. I sang the song that you like
about the 'Lady of the West Country':

"'I think she was the most beautiful lady
That ever was in the West Country.
But beauty vanishes, beauty passes,
However rare, rare it be;
And when I crumble who shall remember
That Lady of the West Country?'

"He liked it and made me sing it twice, and then a dreadful thing
happened. A motor stopped at the door and some one ran up the steps. We
heard voices and turned around, and there were the Lovely Ladies back
again with the two men, and a chauffeur in the background with the bags!

"It seems that they had motored down at Dr. Richard's invitation for a
week-end, and that he had forgotten it!

"Of course you are asking, 'Why was it a dreadful thing, my dear?' Uncle
Rod, I stood there smiling a welcome at them all, and Dr. Richard said:
'You know Miss Warfield, Eve,' and then she said, 'Oh, yes,' in a frigid
fashion, and I knew by her manner that back in her mind she was
remembering that I was the girl who had waited on the table!

"Oh, you needn't tell me that I mustn't feel that way, Uncle Rod. I feel
it, and feel it, and _feel_ it. How can I help feeling it when I know
that if I had Evelyn Chesley's friends and Evelyn's fortune, people
would look on Me-Myself in quite a different way. You see, they would
judge me by the Outside-Person part of me, which would be soft and silky
and secure, and not dowdy and diffident.

"Oh, Uncle Rod, is Geoffrey Fox right? And have you and I been dreaming
all these years? The rest of the world doesn't dream; it makes money and
spends it, and makes money and spends it, and makes money and spends it.
Only you and I are still old-fashioned enough to want sunsets; the rest
of them want motor cars and yachts and trips to Europe. That was what
Jimmie Ford wanted, and that was why he didn't want me.

"There, I have said it, Uncle Rod. Your letter made me know it. Perhaps I
have hoped and hoped a little that he might come back to me. I have made
up scenes in my mind of how I would scorn him and send him away, and
indeed I would send him away, for there isn't any love left--only a lot
of hurt pride.

"To think that h