h
half hidden in the heavy shrubbery. Their backs were toward her, and she
noticed that the girl's hand rested on the man's shoulder and that their
heads were bent in intimate conversation. The next instant she recognized
Rose Mattel's hat and the dim outline of Quin's troubled profile.

Turning sharply to the right, she hurried up through the pergola and out
into the avenue. She wondered why she was so unaccountably angry. Rose
and Quin had a perfect right to sit in the square at twilight and talk as
much as they liked. It was not her business, anyhow, she told herself;
she ought to be glad for poor Rose to have any diversion she could get
after being in that hideous store all day. She didn't blame Rose one bit.
But if Quin thought as much of somebody else as he pretended to, she
couldn't see what he would have to say to another girl out here in the
park at twilight, especially a girl that he saw three times a day at
home! Could there be anything between them? She had scorned the idea when
it was once tentatively suggested to her by Harold Phipps. Of
_course_ there couldn't. And yet----

So preoccupied was she with these disturbing reflections that she almost
forgot the real business in hand until she stood on her own doorstep
waiting to be admitted.

"Old Miss says for you to come up to her room the minute you git in,"
Hannah said, with an ominous note in her voice.

"What's the matter, Hannah? Uncle Ranny?"

"Lord, no, honey! Mr. Ranny's behavin' himself like a angel. Hit was
somethin' that come in the mail. Miss Isobel she don't know, and I don't
know; but Old Miss certainly has got it in fer somebody."

Eleanor's new-found confidence promptly deserted her, and she hastily
took stock of her own shortcomings. Of course she was writing daily to
Harold, but the matter of her private correspondence had been threshed
out during the summer and she had emerged battered but victorious. Aside
from that, she could think of no probable cause she had given for
offense.

In the hall she met Miss Isobel.

"Mother has been asking for you, dear," she said in a voice heavy with
premonition. "She's very much upset about something."

Eleanor anxiously mounted the stairs. It was evidently not a propitious
moment to present her case; and yet, Papa Claude must have an answer
within twenty-four hours. At the door of Madam's room she hesitated. Then
she took the small remnant of her courage in both hands and entered.

Madam was