speechless, but her eyes blazed. Matilda sat by the window, dumb with
astonishment. This was not at all what she had expected. Rosemary had
drawn a yellow old letter from the recesses of her brown gingham gown
and was offering it to Grandmother. The sight of it had affected the old
lady powerfully.

[Sidenote: The Money]

"Very well," Rosemary was saying, as she returned the letter to its
hiding-place. "In case you've forgotten, I'll tell you what's in it. The
day father sailed up the coast, he sent you a draft for more than eleven
thousand dollars. He said it was for me--for my clothes and my
education, in case anything happened to him. He said that you were to
give me whatever I might want or need, as long as the money lasted. I'll
leave it to you whether you've carried out his instructions or not.

"Now that I'm going to be married, I've taken the liberty of helping
myself to a small part of what is my own. There's almost two thousand
dollars left, and you're quite welcome to it, but I won't be married in
brown gingham nor go to my husband in ragged shoes, and if I think of
anything else I want, I'm going to have it."

"Ma," said Matilda, tremulously, "if this is so, we ain't done right by
Rosemary."

"It's so," Rosemary continued, turning toward the figure at the window.
"You can read the letter if you want to." She put her hand to her breast
again, but Matilda shook her head.

[Sidenote: Grandmother's Decision]

"If you want me to," the girl went on, "I'll go now. Mrs. Marsh will
take me in, but I'll have to explain why I ask it. I haven't told Alden,
or his mother, and I don't want to. I won't bring shame upon those of my
own blood if I can help it. But what I've had, I've earned, and I don't
feel indebted to you for anything, not even a single slice of bread.
That's all."

Grandmother staggered to her feet, breathing heavily. Her face was
colourless, her lips ashen grey. "Rosemary Starr," she said, with long
pauses between the words, "I'll never--speak to--you--again as--long
as--I--live." Then she fell back into her chair, with her hand upon her
heart.

"Very well, Grandmother," Rosemary returned, shrugging her shoulders.
"You'll have to do as you like about that."

By supper-time the household was calm again--upon the surface. True to
her word, Grandmother refused to communicate directly with Rosemary. She
treated the girl as she might a piece of furniture--unworthy of
attention except in times of