disliked
it. It would be disgraceful not to. They might as well have talked to
the four winds. Theodosia was immoveable. They coaxed and argued and
blamed--it all came to the same thing. Even those of them who could be
"set" enough themselves on occasion could not understand Theodosia,
who had always been so tractable. They finally gave up, as Wesley had
done, baffled. Time would bring her to her senses, they said; you just
had to leave that still, stubborn kind alone.

On the morning of Wesley's departure Theodosia arose at sunrise and
prepared a tempting breakfast. Irving Brooke's oldest son, Stanley,
who was to drive Wesley to the station, came over early with his
express wagon. Wesley's trunk, corded and labelled, stood on the back
platform. The breakfast was a very silent meal. When it was over
Wesley put on his hat and overcoat and went to the door, around which
Theodosia's morning-glory vines were beginning to twine. The sun was
not yet above the trees and the long shadows lay on the dewy grass.
The wet leaves were flickering on the old maples that grew along the
fence between the yard and the clover field beyond. The skies were all
pearly blue, cleanswept of clouds. From the little farmhouse the green
meadows sloped down to the valley, where a blue haze wound in and out
like a glistening ribbon.

Theodosia went out and stood looking inscrutably on, while Wesley and
Irving hoisted the trunk into the wagon and tied it. Then Wesley came
up the porch steps and looked at her.

"Dosia," he said a little huskily, "I said I wouldn't ask you to go
again, but I will. Will you come with me yet?"

"No," said Theodosia gently.

He held out his hand. He did not offer to kiss her.

"Goodbye, Dosia."

"Goodbye, Wes."

There was no tremor of an eyelash with her. Wesley smiled bitterly and
turned away. When the wagon reached the end of the little lane he
turned and looked back for the last time. Through all the years that
followed he carried with him the picture of his wife as he saw her
then, standing amid the airy shadows and wavering golden lights of the
morning, the wind blowing the skirt of her pale blue wrapper about
her feet and ruffling the locks of her bright hair into a delicate
golden cloud. Then the wagon disappeared around a curve in the road,
and Theodosia turned and went back into her desolate home.

For a time there was a great buzz of gossip over the affair. People
wondered over it. Old Jim Parmelee u