alderwell so
decidedly that night when he, for the half-dozenth time, laid his hand
and heart at her feet, that even Calderwell himself was convinced--so
far as his own case was concerned--and left town the next day.

Bertram told Aunt Hannah afterward that he understood Mr. Calderwell
had gone to parts unknown. To himself Bertram shamelessly owned that the
more "unknown" they were, the better he himself would be pleased.

CHAPTER XXX

MARIE FINDS A FRIEND

It was on a very cold January afternoon, and Cyril was hurrying up the
hill toward Billy's house, when he was startled to see a slender young
woman sitting on a curbstone with her head against an electric-light
post. He stopped abruptly.

"I beg your pardon, but--why, Miss Hawthorn! It is Miss Hawthorn; isn't
it?"

Under his questioning eyes the girl's pale face became so painfully
scarlet that in sheer pity the man turned his eyes away. He thought he
had seen women blush before, but he decided now that he had not.

"I'm sure--haven't I met you at Miss Neilson's? Are you ill? Can't I do
something for you?" he begged.

"Yes--no--that is, I AM Miss Hawthorn, and I've met you at Miss
Neilson's," stammered the girl, faintly. "But there isn't anything,
thank you, that you can do--Mr. Henshaw. I stopped to--rest."

The man frowned.

"But, surely--pardon me, Miss Hawthorn, but I can't think it your
usual custom to choose an icy curbstone for a resting place, with the
thermometer down to zero. You must be ill. Let me take you to Miss
Neilson's."

"No, no, thank you," cried the girl, struggling to her feet, the vivid
red again flooding her face. "I have a lesson--to give."

"Nonsense! You're not fit to give a lesson. Besides, they are all
folderol, anyway, half of them. A dozen lessons, more or less, won't
make any difference; they'll play just as well--and just as atrociously.
Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's."

"No, no, thank you! I really mustn't. I--" She could say no more. A
strong, yet very gentle hand had taken firm hold of her arm in such
a way as half to support her. A force quite outside of herself was
carrying her forward step by step--and Miss Hawthorn was not used to
strong, gentle hands, nor yet to a force quite outside of herself.
Neither was she accustomed to walk arm in arm with Mr. Cyril Henshaw to
Miss Billy's door. When she reached there her cheeks were like red roses
for color, and her eyes were like the stars for br