on the fast-fading twilight, and Mrs. Hilbrough's reception-room was
growing dusk when Millard slowly, as one whose purposes are benumbed,
rose to leave. Once in the street, he walked first toward one avenue and
then toward the other. He thought to go to his apartment, but he shrank
from loneliness; he would go to dinner at a neighboring restaurant; then
he turned toward his club; and then he formed the bold resolution to
make himself welcome, as he had before, at Mrs. Callender's
Sunday-evening tea-table. But reflecting on the unlucky outcome of his
interview with Phillida, he gave this up, and after some further
irresolution dined at a table by himself in the club. He had small
appetite for food, for human fellowship he had none at all, and he soon
sought solitude in his apartment.

XXII.

WINTER STRAWBERRIES.

Knowing that Phillida was a precipice inaccessible on the side of what
she esteemed her duty, Mrs. Hilbrough was almost sorry that she had
promised to attempt any persuasions. But she dispatched a note early
Tuesday morning, begging Phillida's company at luncheon, assigning the
trivial reason, for want of a better, that she had got some winter-grown
strawberries and wished a friend to enjoy them with her. Phillida,
fatigued with the heart-breaking struggle between love and duty, and
almost ready sometimes to give over and take the easier path, thought to
find an hour's intermission from her inward turmoil over Mrs.
Hilbrough's hothouse berries. The Hilbrough children were fond of
Phillida, and luncheon was a meal at which they made a point of
disregarding the bondage of the new family position. They seasoned their
meal with the animal spirits of youth, and, despite the fact that the
costly winter berries were rather sour, the lunch proved exceedingly
agreeable to Phillida. The spontaneous violence which healthy children
do to etiquette often proves a relish. But when the Hilbrough children
had bolted their strawberries, scraped the last remainder of the sugar
and cream from the saucers, and left the table in a hurry, there came
an audible pause, and Mrs. Hilbrough approached the subject of
Phillida's faith-healing in a characteristically tactful way by giving
an account of Mrs. Maginnis's call, and by approving Phillida's
determination not to take money. It was a laudable pride, Mrs. Hilbrough
said.

"I can not call it pride altogether," said Phillida, with the innate
veracity of her nature assert