up and I saw that it was a picture of Mr. Wilde--the
one that usually stands on the mantel-piece. Lorraine is always talking
about him, and she has told me ever and ever so much about how nice
and kind he was to her when she was studying art in New York. But, of
course, I didn't know she cared enough for him to cry over his picture,
and it gave me the queerest feelings to see her do it--kind of wabbly
ones in my legs, and strange, sinking ones in my stomach. You see, I had
just finished reading Lady Hermione's Terrible Secret. A girl at school
lent it to me. So when I saw Lorraine crying over a photograph and faded
flowers I knew it must mean that she had learned to love Mr. Wilde with
a love that was her doom, or would be if she didn't hurry and get over
it. Finally I crept out of the house without saying a word to her or
letting her know I was there, and I leaned on the gate to think it over
and try to imagine what a girl in a book would do. In Lady Hermione her
sister discovered the truth and tried to save the rash woman from the
sad consequences of her love, so I knew that was what I must do, but I
didn't know how to begin. While I was standing there with my brain going
round like one of Billy's paper pinwheels some one stopped in front
of me and said, "Hello, Alice," in a sick kind of a way, like a boy
beginning to recite a piece at school. I looked up. It was Harry Goward!

You'd better believe I was surprised, for, of course, when he went away
nobody expected he would come back so soon; and after all the fuss and
the red eyes and the mystery _I_ hoped he wouldn't come back at all. But
here he was in three days, so I said, very coldly, "How do you do, Mr.
Goward," and bowed in a distant way; and he took his hat off quickly and
held it in his hand, and I waited for him to say something else. All
he did for a minute was to look over my head. Then he said, in the same
queer voice: "Is Mrs. Peter in? I wanted to have a little talk with
her," and he put his hand on the gate to open it. I suppose it was
dreadfully rude, but I stayed just where I was and said, very slowly,
in icy tones, that he must kindly excuse my sister-in-law, as I was sure
she wouldn't be able to receive him. Of course I knew she wouldn't want
him or any one else to come in and see her cry, and besides I never
liked Harry Goward and I never expect to. He looked very much surprised
at first, and then his face got as red as a baby's does when there's a