declared that he never paid her the slightest attention of a matrimonial
character; that he'd been very kind to her, very jolly, and friendly,
but that was all.

I think that if Mount Vesuvius had leaped out of me, and taken its
departure, I could scarce have felt more relieved. I really had been
harboring a volcano for some time, and it was a hot tenant.

Shortly after hearing this latter piece of Mrs. Purblind's news, another
bit was added.

"Dolph has gone away," she said, one day; "left suddenly, this morning.
He confessed to being played out, and I'm sure he looks it. He's gone on
to Buffalo, to brother Dave's."

That night I sat down and wrote a letter; when one has done wrong, his
first conscious act should be to confess.

I was in a trying position; one is at such a time. Two months had
elapsed, and Mr. Chance might have changed his mind and intent. Men do,
occasionally; women, too. And indeed he never had asked me to marry him.
True, that is the supposition when a man, with any real manhood about
him, tells a woman he loves her--when he shows her marked attentions, in
fact; but, as I said to Mr. Chance, I did not intend to take such things
for granted. I had not changed in that respect. I had, however, become
convinced that I was harsh and unjust to him. It is a blundering teacher
who takes badness in a child for granted--does not wait for proof. It is
an inspired teacher who ignores the bad sometimes, even after it has
been proven. To think the worst, so some of the psychologists tell us,
will often create the worst. Even a cook does well to make the most of
her materials. Her dishes will be likely to turn out ill, if she treats
the ingredients with disrespect. It would seem that I, who had in a
manner made a specialty of matrimonial cookery, had something yet to
learn. Randolph Chance had given me a lesson.

In my letter, I said that time and thought had shown me I had done him a
wrong, and that I was very sorry; that, no doubt, he had changed in some
feelings, and it was, perhaps, not likely we should meet very soon; but
that I wished him to know I realized my mistake, and that I was still
his friend.

The second day after I had written, I heard from him; our letters were
penned the same night, and must have crossed each other. In his he said
he had held off as long as he could, but was coming right back from
Buffalo to see me. He was certain he could explain everything; he had
nothing to hide, and h