ther in such cases
said she did not believe a thing, it meant that the door of her mind was
fast shut and no reason could get into it.

Mrs. Yorke could not but notice that some change had taken place in
Alice of late. In a way she had undoubtedly improved. She was more
serious, more thoughtful of Mrs. Yorke herself, less wilful. Yet it was
not without some misgiving that Mrs. Yorke noted the change.

She suddenly had her eyes opened. Mrs. Nailor, one of her New York
friends, performed this amiable office. She assigned the possible cause,
though not directly--Mrs. Nailor rarely did things directly. She was a
small, purring lady, with a tilt of the head, and an insinuating voice
of singular clearness, with a question-mark in it. She was of a very
good family, lived in a big house on Murray Hill, and had as large a
circle of acquaintance as any one in New York. She prided herself on
knowing everybody worth knowing, and everything about everybody. She was
not lacking in amiability; she was, indeed, so amiable that she would
slander almost any absent friend to please one who was present. She had
a little grudge against Keith, for she had been struck from the first by
his bright eyes and good manners; but Keith had been so much engrossed
by his interest in Alice Yorke that he had been remiss in paying Mrs.
Nailor that attention which she felt her position required. Mrs. Nailor
now gave Mrs. Yorke a judicious hint.

"You have such a gift for knowing people?" she said to her, "and your
daughter is so like you?" She showed her even teeth.

Mrs. Yorke was not quite sure what she meant, and she answered somewhat
coldly that she was glad that Mrs. Nailor thought so. Mrs. Nailor soon
indicated her meaning.

"The young schoolmaster--he is a schoolmaster in whom your daughter is
interested, isn't he? Yes? He appears so well-read? He brought your
daughter down the mountain the day her horse ran off with her? So
romantic to make an acquaintance that way--I quite envy you? There is so
little real romance these days! It is delightful to find it?" She
sighed, and Mrs. Yorke thought of Daniel Nailor and his little bald head
and round mouth. "Yes, I quite envy you--and your daughter. Who is he?"

Mrs. Yorke said he was of a very old and distinguished family. She gave
him a pedigree that would have done honor to a Derby-winner.

"I am so glad," declared Mrs. Nailor. "I knew he must be, of course. I
am sure you would never encourage su