It turned out a hard winter, in many ways, for Desire Ledwith. She
hated gay company, and the quiet little circle that she had become
fond of at her Aunt Ripwinkley's was broken somewhat to them all,
and more to Desire than, among what had grown to be her chronic
discontents, she realized or understood, by the going away for a
time of Kenneth Kincaid.

What was curious in the happening, too, he had gone up to "And" to
build a church. That had come about through the Marchbankses'
knowledge of him, and this, you remember, through their being with
the Geoffreys when the Kincaids were first introduced in Summit
Street.

The Marchbankses and the Geoffreys were cousins. A good many Boston
families are.

Mr. Roger Marchbanks owned a good deal of property in And. The
neighborhood wanted a church; and he interested himself actively and
liberally in behalf of it, and gave the land,--three lots right out
of the middle of Marchbanks Street, that ran down to the river.

Dorris kept her little room, and was neighborly as heretofore; but
she was busy with her music, and had little time but her evenings;
and now there was nobody to walk home with Desire to Shubarton
Place, if she stayed in Aspen Street to tea. She came sometimes, and
stayed all night; but that was dreary for Helena, who never
remembered to shut the piano or cover up the canary, or give the
plants in the bay window their evening sprinkle, after the furnace
heat had been drying them all day.

Kenneth Kincaid came down for his Sundays with Dorris, and his work
at the Mission; a few times he called in at Uncle Oldways' after
tea, when the family was all together; but they saw him very seldom;
he gave those Sunday evenings mostly to needed rest, and to quiet
talk with Dorris.

Desire might have gone to the Mission this winter, easily enough,
after all. Agatha and Florence and Glossy Megilp were not by to make
wondering eyes, or smile significant smiles; but there was something
in herself that prevented; she knew that it would be more than half
to _get_, and she still thought she had so little to give! Besides,
Kenneth Kincaid had never asked her again, and she could not go to
him and say she would come.

Desire Ledwith began to have serious question of what life was ever
going to be for her. She imagined, as in our early years and our
first gray days we are all apt to imagine, that she had found out a
good deal that it was _not_ going to be.

She was not goi