ill health,
these she herself could have prevented had she told him the whole truth
that night on the stairs, or the day before when she had parried his
direct proposal of marriage--a piece of stupidity for which she never
failed to blame herself.

His future conduct did not trouble her in the least. She had long since
become convinced that Willits would never again become intemperate. He
had kept his promise, and this meant more to her than his having given
way to past temptations. The lesson he had learned at the ball had had,
too, its full effect. One he had never forgotten. Over and over again
he had apologized to her for his brutal insolence in laying his profane
hands on her dancing-card and tearing it to bits before her eyes. He
had, moreover, deeply regretted the duel and had sworn to her on his
honor as a gentleman that he would never fight another.

Each time she had listened quietly and had told him how much she was
pleased and how grateful she was for his confidence and how such fine
resolutions redounded to his credit, and yet in thinking it over the
next day she could not help comparing his meek outbursts of sorrow with
Harry's blunt statement made to her the last time she saw him in the
park, when, instead of expressing any regret for having shot Willits,
he had boldly declared that he would do it again if any such insult
were repeated. And strange to say--and this she could not understand in
herself--in all such comparisons Harry came out best.

But:--and here she had to hold on to her rudder with all her might--she
had already made one mistake, tumbling head over heels in love with
a young fellow who had mortified her before the world when their
engagement was less than a few months old, making her name and
affections a byword, and she could not and would not repeat the blunder.
This had shattered her customary self-reliance, leaving her wellnigh
helpless. Perhaps after all--an unheard-of thing in her experience--she
had better seek advice of some older and wiser pilot. Two heads, or even
three--(here her canny Scotch blood asserted itself)--were better than
one in deciding so important a matter as the choosing of a mate for
life. And yet--now she came to think it over--it was not so much a
question of heads as it was a question of shoulders on which the heads
rested. To turn to St. George, or to any member of the Willits kin, was
impossible. Peggy's views she understood. Counsel, however, she must