n't touch me, I say! Don't touch me!" She had endured his presence
till she could bear it no longer, and the thought of Dic sitting with
Sukey had so wrought upon her that her self-control was exhausted.
Williams walked back to the fireplace, and Rita, opening the stair door,
hurriedly went to her room.

[Illustration: "COVERING HER FACE WITH HER HANDS, SHE BEGAN TO WEEP."]

She was not one in whom the baser sort of jealousy could exist; but the
thought of Dic, her Dic, sitting with Sukey, while she was compelled to
endure the presence of the man she had learned almost to hate, burned
her. Her jealousy did not take the form of hatred toward Sukey, and the
pain it brought her was chiefly because it confirmed her in the belief
that she had lost Dic. She did not doubt that Dic had loved her, and her
faith in that fact quickened her sense of loss. She blamed no one but
herself for the fact that he no longer loved her, and was seeking
another. Still, she was jealous, though even that unholy passion could
not be base in her.

Sukey smiled and dimpled at Dic for an hour or two with no appreciable
effect. He sat watching the fire, seeing none of her little love
signals, and went home quite as wretched as he had come. Evidently,
Sukey was the wrong remedy, though upon seeing her charms one would have
felt almost justified in warranting her,--no cure, no pay. Perhaps she
was a too-willing remedy: an overdose of even the right drug may
neutralize itself. As for myself, I love Dic better because his ailment
responded to no remedy.

Next day, Tom, without at all deserving it, won Rita's gratitude by
taking Williams out shooting.

After supper Rita said, "My head aches, and if I may be excused, I will
go to my room."

But her mother vetoed the proposition:--

"Your head does not ache, and you will stay downstairs. Your father and
I are going to church, and Mr. Williams will not want to be alone, will
you, Mr. Williams?"

"Indeed, I hope Miss Bays will keep me company," answered this
persistent, not-to-be-shaken-off suitor.

So Rita remained downstairs with Williams and listened to his apologies
for having offended her the night before. She felt contrite, and in turn
told him she was the one who should apologize, and said she hoped he
would forgive her. Her gentle heart could not bear to inflict pain even
upon this man who had brought so much suffering to her.

The next morning took Williams away, and Rita's thoughts were