the night before.
She had been too tired, and had gone directly to her room, where, after
a time, Mrs. Easterfield joined her; and the two talked late. One who
had overheard their conversation might well have supposed that the elder
lady was as much interested in Lieutenant Asher's approaching nuptials
as was the younger one. When she was leaving Mrs. Easterfield said:

"You have enough on your mind to give it all the trouble it ought to
bear, and so I beg of you not to think for a moment of that absurd idea
about your uncle's engagement. I never saw the woman, but I have heard
of her; she is a professional scandal-monger; and Captain Asher would
not think for a moment of marrying her. When Mr. Lancaster comes
to-morrow you will hear that she was merely consulting him on business,
and that you are to go to the toll-gate to-morrow as soon as you can.
But remember, this time I am going to send you in the carriage. No more
bicycles."

In spite of this well-intentioned admonition, Olive did not sleep well,
and dreamed all night of Miss Port in the shape of a great cat covered
with feathers like a chicken, and trying to get a chance to jump at her.
Very early she awoke, and looking at her clock, she began to calculate
the hours which must pass before Mr. Lancaster could arrive. It was
rather strange that of the two troubles which came to her as soon as she
opened her eyes, the suspected engagement of her uncle pushed itself in
front of the actual engagement of her father; the one was something she
_knew_ she would have to make up her mind to bear; the other was
something she _feared_ she would have to make up her mind to bear.

_CHAPTER XVIII_

_What Olive determined to do._

Olive was very much disappointed at breakfast time, and as soon as she
had finished that meal she stationed herself at a point on the grounds
which commanded the entrance. People came and talked to her, but she did
not encourage conversation, and about eleven o'clock she went to Mrs.
Easterfield in her room.

"He is not coming," she said. "He is afraid."

"What is he afraid of?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.

"He is afraid to tell me that the optimistic speculations with which he
tried to soothe my mind arose entirely from his own imagination. The
whole thing is exactly what I expected, and he hasn't the courage to
come and say so. Now, really, don't you think this is the state of the
case, and that if he had anything but the worst news to b