Patience
usually placed herself at such times, and which had gained thereby the
name of "the stool of penitence."

"Yes," he answered, "I have written such letters once or twice in my
life."

Pauline stooped to straighten out the hearth rug. "Father," she said
abruptly; "I have been writing to Uncle Paul." She drew a sharp breath
of relief.

"You have been writing to your Uncle Paul! About what, Pauline?"

And Pauline told him. When she had finished, Mr. Shaw sat for some
moments without speaking, his eyes on the fire.

"It didn't seem very--wrong, at the time," Pauline ventured. "I had to
do something for Hilary."

"Why did you not consult your mother, or myself, before taking such a
step, Pauline?"

"I was afraid--if I did--that you would--forbid it; and I was so
anxious to do something. It's nearly a month now since Dr. Brice said
Hilary must have a change. We used to have such good times
together--Hilary and I--but we never have fun anymore--she doesn't care
about anything; and to-day it seemed as if I couldn't bear it any
longer, so I wrote. I--I am sorry, if you're displeased with me,
father, and yet, if Uncle Paul writes back favorably, I'm afraid I
can't help being glad I wrote."

Mr. Shaw rose, lighting the low reading-lamp, standing on the study
table. "You are frank enough after the event, at least, Pauline. To
be equally so, I am displeased; displeased and exceedingly annoyed.
However, we will let the matter rest where it is until you have heard
from your uncle, I should advise your saying nothing to your sisters
until his reply comes. I am afraid you will find it disappointing."

Pauline flushed. "I never intended telling Hilary anything about it
unless I had good news for her; as for Patience--"

Out in the hall again, with the study door closed behind her, Pauline
stood a moment choking back a sudden lump in her throat. Would Uncle
Paul treat her letter as a mere piece of school-girl impertinence, as
father seemed to?

From the sitting-room came an impatient summons. "Paul, will you never
come!"

"What is it, Hilary?" Pauline asked, coming to sit at one end of the
old sofa.

"That's what I want to know," Hilary answered from the other end.
"Impatience says you've been writing all sorts of mysterious letters
this afternoon, and that you came home just now looking like---"

"Well, like what?"

"Like you'd been up to something--and weren't quite sure how the
grown-ups wer