delighted," Miss Matthews said; "but
somehow it doesn't seem right."

"Why not----?"

"Oh, I'd fixed it up that you were going to marry Justin Ford. Captain
Stubbs and I watched you that day we went fishing, and if ever two
young things seemed to be in love--well----"

"I--we are in love, Letty."

"Then why in the world are you going to marry Anthony Blake?"

"Because I've promised--and I can't be like my--father. And I can't hurt
Anthony--not when he has been so good to me."

She was sobbing again, and into the eyes of the little woman who had
never had a daughter came a look of motherly solicitude.

"Dear child," she said, "if you are just going to marry Anthony Blake
because you are grateful, don't you do it. No man wants a woman who
feels that way--and you wouldn't make him happy----"

"But--I've sent Justin away--and he's angry with me. That is why I was
crying when you found me----"

She was on her knees now beside the bed, and the old maid's arms were
about her.

"There--there, dearie, you've thought too much about it, and you've come
to believe that it's the things you like to do which are wrong. And it's
really the other way."

Miss Matthews was thinking rapidly. There was some mystery. Anthony
Blake was in love with Diana Gregory. He had always been in love with
her. No one need try to tell her that he was not, for she _knew_. Then
why was he engaged to Betty, and why had Diana gone away?

She had a sudden inspiration.

"Listen, Betty, there's just one person who can straighten things out,
and that person is Diana Gregory. Men aren't any good at a time like
this. They think with their heads, but women think with their hearts,
and that's the kind of thinking that you need most now----"

"But, Letty----"

Miss Matthews waved her away. "You go and write to Diana and mail it
to-night, and then come back and keep me company. I'm afraid of the
storm."

It was at that very moment that Anthony was also writing to Diana. When
he had left Bettina he had gone straight to Harbor Light and into a
little inner office where he was guarded from all intruders by the
assistant who sat in the anteroom. Not even a telephone could sound its
insistent note in this place where the doctor gained, in a reclining
chair, his few brief moments of rest, or where he worked out the
intricacies of perplexing problems. Now and then he saw a patient there,
but rarely. Usually he shut his door against all distracting influe