ouched by his misery, even against her better judgment; and she had
intended to confess it all to Stephen sometime, telling him that she
should never again accept attentions from a stranger, lest a tragedy
like this should happen twice in a lifetime.

She had imagined that Stephen would be his large-minded,
great-hearted, magnanimous self, and beg her to forget this fascinating
will-o'-the-wisp by resting in his deeper, serener love. She had meant
to be contrite and faithful, praying nightly that poor Claude might live
down his present anguish, of which she had been the innocent cause.

Instead, what had happened? She had been put altogether in the wrong.
Stephen had almost cast her off, and that, too, without argument. He
had given her her liberty before she had asked for it, taking it for
granted, without question, that she desired to be rid of him. Instead
of comforting her in her remorse, or sympathizing with her for so
nobly refusing to shine in Claude's larger world of Boston, Stephen had
assumed that she was disloyal in every particular.

And pray how was she to cope with such a disagreeable and complicated
situation?

It would not be long before the gossips rolled under their tongues the
delicious morsel of a broken engagement, and sooner or later she must
brave the displeasure of her grandmother.

And the little house--that was worse than anything. Her tears flowed
faster as she thought of Stephen's joy in it, of his faithful labor, of
the savings he had invested in it. She hated and despised herself
when she thought of the house, and for the first time in her life she
realized the limitations of her nature, the poverty of her ideals.

What should she do? She had lost Stephen and ruined his life. Now, in
order that she need not blight a second career, must she contrive to
return Claude's love? To be sure, she thought, it seemed indecent to
marry any other man than Stephen, when they had built a house together,
and chosen wallpapers, and a kitchen stove, and dining-room chairs; but
was it not the only way to evade the difficulties?

Suppose that Stephen, in a fit of pique, should ask somebody else to
share the new cottage?

As this dreadful possibility came into view, Rose's sobs actually
frightened the birds and the squirrels. She paced back and forth under
the trees, wondering how she could have been engaged to a man for eight
months and know so little about him as she seemed to know about Stephen
Wat