ke those headaches of hers more seriously. A headache
seems a little thing, but I know of a case--"

With Esther's sympathetic encouragement the good lady launched upon a
recital of melancholy happenings more or less connected with headaches
which occupied her attention very pleasantly and prevented any one else
from saying anything until the return of the awaited guest. He came in
looking as usual and bearing an apology from the hostess for her sudden
indisposition. "Nothing at all serious," he added lightly. "It is
possible that she may join us later." But it was noticeable that as he
spoke he did not look at Esther nor could her anxious glance read the
impassive sternness of his face.

It was not a successful meal. In spite of the pretty table, the dainty
food, the well kept up fire of conversation, the beautiful evening out
of doors, the softly shaded light inside, from first to last the supper
was a nightmare. Of what avail the careful pretence that nothing was
wrong? A very miasma of dread enveloped that table, a thing so palpable
that Miss Annabel found herself starting at a sound, the minister's
ready tongue faltered on a favourite phrase, Esther's clear voice grew
blurred, Aunt Amy wrung her hands, Jane's eyes were wide with
unchildlike care. Only Callandar seemed undisturbed, courteous,
interested.

It was a relief to them all when after an uncomfortable half-hour with
coffee on the veranda the minister suddenly remembered a forgotten
committee meeting and hurried Miss Annabel away with half her parting
words unspoken. The doctor, still courteous and interested, walked down
with them to the gate. He would wait, he said, a little longer to see
how Mrs. Coombe found herself. Esther carried off a subdued and silent
Jane to bed.

"Esther," whispered Jane as her sister bent to kiss her, "why do lovely,
lovely days always end so badly?"

"They don't, Janie."

The child sighed. "Mine do. I never had a perfect day in all my life."

"You will have. Every one has perfect days--sometime."

"Have you, Esther?"

"Yes, dear."

Jane looked up sleepily. "Perhaps mine will come to-morrow!"

Esther went slowly down stairs and out into the garden. Callandar was
coming up the path from the gate. He walked slowly. When they met, he no
longer avoided her glance.

"Well?" She had no need to ask. Yet she did ask, falteringly.

"We have failed," he said briefly.

The quiet hopelessness of his voice left no room for a