pened it, and stepping into the library, found no one. The door
between the library and the front hall stood open, and through it I
heard the voice of Miss Trescott and the clear, carrying tones of Mr.
Cornish, in low but earnest conversation.

"Yes," I heard him say, "perhaps. And if I am, haven't I abundant
reason?"

"I have told you often," said she pleadingly, "that I would give you a
definite answer whenever you definitely demand it--"

"And that it would in that case be 'No,'" he added, completing the
sentence. "Oh, Josie, my darling, haven't you punished me enough for my
bad conduct toward you in that old time? I was a young fool, and you a
strange country girl; but as soon as you left us, I began to feel your
sweetness. And I was seeking for you everywhere I went until I found you
that night up there by the lake. Does that seem like slighting you? Why,
I hope you don't deem me capable of being satisfied in this hole
Lattimore, under any circumstances, if it hadn't been for the hope and
comfort your being here has given me!"

"I thought we were to say no more about that old time," said she; "I
thought the doings of Johnny Cornish were not to be remembered by or of
Bedford."

"The name I've asked you to call me by!" said he passionately. "Does
that mean--"

"It means nothing," said she. "Oh, please, please!--Good-night!"

I retired to the porch, and rapped again. She came to the door blushing
redly, and so fluttered by their leave-taking that I thanked God that
Jim was not in my place. There would have been division in our ranks at
once; for it seemed to me that her conduct to Cornish was too
complaisant by far.

"I came over," said I, "because Alice said you wanted to see me."

I think there must have been in my tone something of the reproach in my
thoughts; for she timidly said she was sorry to have given me so much
trouble.

"Oh, don't, Josie!" said I. "You know I'd not miss the chance of doing
you a favor for anything. Tell me what it is, my dear girl, and don't
speak of trouble."

"If you forbid reference to trouble," said she, smiling, "it will stop
this conference. For my troubles are what I want to talk to you about.
May I go on?--You see, our financial condition is awfully queer. Mamma
has some money, but not much. And we have this big house. It's absurd
for us to live in it, and I want to ask you first, can you sell it for
us?"

It was doubtful, I told her. A year or so ago, I went on, it