loves you already as a dear niece. Even
Anne, your chum, thinks you are making a mistake in choosing work
instead of love. Of course I know that what your friends think can make
no difference in what _you_ think. Still I believe if you would once
put the idea away of being self-supporting you'd see matters in a
different light. You aren't obliged to work for your living. Why not
give Harlowe House into the care of some one who is, and marry me?"

"But you don't understand me in the least, Tom." A petulant note crept
into Grace's voice. "It's just because I'm not obliged to support myself
that I'm happy in doing so. I feel so free and independent. It's my
freedom I love. I don't love you. There are times when I'm sorry that I
don't, and then again there are times when I'm glad. I shall always be
fond of you, but my feeling toward you is just the same as it is for
Hippy or David or Reddy. There! I've hurt you. Forgive me. Must we say
anything more about it? Please, please don't look so hurt, Tom."

Grace's eyes were fastened on Tom with the sorrowing air of one who has
inadvertently hurt a child. Usually so delicate in her respect for the
feelings of others, she seemed fated continually to wound this loyal
friend, whose only fault lay in the fact that his boyish affection for
her had ripened into a man's love. Saddest of all, an unrequited love.

[Illustration: "Look at Me, Grace."]

"Of course I forgive you, Grace." Tom rose. He looked long and
searchingly into the face of the girl who had just hurt him so cruelly.
"I--I think I'd better go now. I hope you'll find all the happiness in
your work that you expect to find. I'm only sorry it had to come first.
I don't know when I'll see you again. Not until next summer, I suppose.
I can't come to Oakdale for Easter this year. I wish you'd write to
me--that is, if you feel you'd like to. Remember, I am always your old
friend Tom."

"I _will_ write to you, Tom." Grace's gray eyes were heavy with unshed
tears. She winked desperately to keep them back. She would not cry.
Luckily the dim light of the room prevented Tom from seeing how near she
was to breaking down. It was all so sad. She had never before realized
how much it hurt her to hurt Tom. She followed him into the hall and to
the door in silence.

"Good-bye, Grace," he said again, holding out his hand.

"Good-bye, Tom," she faltered. He turned abruptly and hurried down the
steps into the winter darkness. He did not