know her better."

"I wish you might. By and by you must. And she must know you. Helen,
I--I feel so ashamed of--of--"

"Hush, or I shall begin to think you are ashamed because you liked
me--or thought you did."

"But I do like you. Next to Madeline there is no one I like so much.
But, but, you see, it is different."

"Of course it is. And it ought to be. Does her mother--do her people
know of the engagement?"

He hesitated momentarily. "No-o," he admitted, "they don't yet. She and
I have decided to keep it a secret from any one for the present. I want
to get on a little further with my writing, you know. She is like you in
that, Helen--she's awfully fond of poetry and literature."

"Especially yours, I'm sure. Tell me about your writing. How are you
getting on?"

So he told her and, until they stood together at the parsonage gate,
Madeline's name was not again mentioned. Then Helen put out her hand.

"Good morning, Albert," she said. "I'm glad we have had this talk, ever
so glad."

"By George, so am I! You're a corking friend, Helen. The chap who does
marry you will be awfully lucky."

She smiled slightly. "Perhaps there won't be any such chap," she said.
"I shall always be a schoolmarm, I imagine."

"Indeed you won't," indignantly. "I have too high an opinion of men for
that."

She smiled again, seemed about to speak, and then to change her mind. An
instant later she said,

"I must go in now. But I shall hope to see you again before I go back to
the city. And, after your secret is out and the engagement is announced,
I want to write Madeline, may I?"

"Of course you may. And she'll like you as much as I do."

"Will she? . . . Well, perhaps; we'll hope so."

"Certainly she will. And you won't let my treating you as--as I have
make any difference in our friendship?"

"No. We shall always be friends, I hope. Good-by."

She went into the house. He waited a moment, hoping she might turn again
before entering, but she did not. He walked home, pondering deeply, his
thoughts a curious jumble of relief and dissatisfaction. He was glad
Helen had seen her duty and given him over to Madeline, but he felt a
trifle piqued to think she had done it with such apparent willingness.
If she had wept or scolded it would have been unpleasant but much more
gratifying to his self-importance.

He could not help realizing, however, that her attitude toward him was
exceptionally fine. He knew well that he, if in her pl