loved him in the past. Whether she had ceased to love him he
could not then determine; time would tell.

During the weeks that followed there were numerous gatherings of a
social and informal nature where Darrell and Marion were thrown in each
other's society, but, though he still showed a preference for her over
the girls of his acquaintance, she shrank from his attentions, avoiding
him whenever she could do so without causing remark.

Thanksgiving Day came, and Miss Jewett's guests were compelled to admit
that she had surpassed herself. The dinner was one long to be
remembered. Her prize turkey occupied the place of honor, flanked on one
side by a roast duck, superbly browned, and on the other by an immense
chicken pie, while savory vegetables, crisp pickles, and tempting
relishes such as she only could concoct crowded the table in every
direction. A huge plum-pudding headed the second course, with an almost
endless retinue of pies,--mince, pumpkin, and apple,--while golden
custards and jellies--red, purple, and amber, of currant, grape, and
peach--brought up the rear. A third course of fruits and nuts followed,
but by that time scarcely any one was able to do more than make a
pretence of eating.

To this dinner were invited the minister and his wife, one or two
far-removed cousins who usually put in an appearance at this season of
the year, Marion Holmes, and a decrepit old lady, a former friend of
Mrs. Jewett's, who confided to the minister's wife that she had eaten a
very light breakfast and no lunch whatever in order that she might be
able to "do justice to Experience's dinner."

Marion Holmes was not there, and Darrell, meeting her on the street the
next day, playfully took her to task.

"Why were you not at dinner yesterday?" he inquired; "have you no more
regard for my feelings than to leave me to be sandwiched between the
parson's wife and old Mrs. Pettigrew?"

"I might have gone had I known such a fate as that awaited you," she
replied, laughing; "but," she added with some spirit, thinking it best
to come to the point at once, "I can see no reason for thrusting myself
into your family gatherings simply because you and I were good comrades
in the past."

"Were we not something more than merely good comrades, Marion?" he
asked, anxious to ascertain her real feelings towards himself; "it
seemed to me we were, or at least that we thought we were."

"That may be," she answered, her color rising slightly;