der that he has been
feeling some disappointment since he came home, though I had written him
she was engaged--Much too young she was, too, in my judgment."

Lois's astonishment was so great that she dropped her mop, and Miss
Deborah looked at her reprovingly over her glasses. "Oh, yes, there's no
doubt Gifford felt it," she said, "but he'll get over it. Those things do
not last with men. You know I wouldn't speak of this to any one but you,
but he's just like a brother to you."

"Yes, exactly like a brother," Lois said hurriedly, "and I think I should
have known it if it had been--had been that way."

"No," said Miss Deborah, putting down the last glass, "I think not. I
only guessed it myself last night; it is all over now; those things never
last. And very likely he'll meet some nice girl in Lockhaven who will
make him happy; indeed, I shouldn't wonder if we heard he was taken with
somebody at once; hearts are often caught on the rebound! I don't know,"
Miss Deborah added candidly, "how lasting an attachment formed on a
previous disappointment might be; and dear me! he does feel her marriage
very much."

Here Sally came in to take away the pan and mop, and Lois looked about to
see if there was anything more to do. She was very anxious to bring Miss
Deborah's conversation to an end, and grateful that Jean should come and
ask her to take some silver, borrowed for yesterday's festivities, back
to Mrs. Dale.

"It's these spoons," the old woman explained to Miss Deborah. "Mrs. Dale,
she lent us a dozen. I've counted 'em all myself; I wouldn't trust 'em to
that Sally. If there was a hair's difference, Mrs. Dale would know it
'fore she set eyes on them, let alone havin' one of our spoons 'stead of
hers."

Miss Deborah nodded her head. "Very likely, Jean," she said; "I've not a
doubt of it. I'm going now, and Miss Lois will walk along with me. Yes,
Mrs. Dale would see if anything was wrong, you can depend upon it."

They set out together, Lois listening absently to Miss Deborah's chatter
about the wedding, and vaguely glad when, at the gate of her aunt's
house, she could leave her, with a pretty bow, which was half a courtesy.

There was a depressing stateliness about Dale house, which was felt as
soon as the stone gateway, with its frowning sphinxes, was passed. The
long shutters on either side of the front door were always solemnly
bowed, for Mrs. Dale did not approve of faded carpets, and the roof of
the veranda,