s of that sort."

Winthrop had several times before in his life come face to face with the
evidence that his handsome, agreeable aunt was selfish. He was now face
to face with it again.

"As regards what you say about a home, Aunt Katrina, Margaret could at
any time have one of her own, if she pleased," he answered; "her income
fully permits it."

Mrs. Rutherford now gave way to tears that were genuine. "It's the first
time, Evert, I've known you to take _her_ part against me," she
answered, from behind her shielding handkerchief.

Winthrop recalled this speech later--after he had made his peace with
his afflicted relative; it _was_ the first time. He thought about it for
a moment or two--that he should have been driven to defend Lanse's wife.
But that was it, he had been driven. "She was so confoundedly unjust,"
he said to himself, thinking of his aunt. He knew that he had a great
taste for justice.

A few days after this he came to the eyrie one morning at an hour much
earlier than his accustomed one; he sent Celestine to ask Mrs. Harold to
come for a moment to the north piazza, the one most remote from Mrs.
Rutherford's rooms. Margaret joined him there immediately; her face wore
an anxious expression.

"I see you think I bring bad news--sending for you in this mysterious
way," he said, smiling. "It isn't bad at all; under the circumstances I
call it very good, the best thing that could have happened. Mr. Moore
has had a letter; Lucian Spenser was married last week. Something
sudden, I presume; probably it was that that took him north."

Margaret's eyes met his with what he called their mute expression. He
had never been able to interpret it, he could not now.

"It hasn't, of course, the least interest for us, except as it may touch
Garda," he went on. "I don't apprehend anything serious; still, as we
are the only persons who have known her little secret--this fancy she
has had--perhaps it would be better if one of us should go down to East
Angels and tell her before any one else can get there--don't you think
so? And will you go? or shall I?"

"You," Margaret answered.

"I don't often ask questions, you must give me that credit," he said,
looking at her. "But I should really like to know upon what grounds you
decide so quickly."

"The grounds are unimportant. But I am sure you are the one to go."

Winthrop, on the whole, wished to go. He now found himself telling his
reasons. "I can go immediately, tha