ice to think that Mr. Langhope's
arrangement with Justine still works so well," Mrs. Dressel hastened on,
nervously hoping that her volubility would smother any recollection of
what he had chanced to overhear.

"Mr. Langhope is lucky in having persuaded Miss Brent to take charge of
Cicely," Mrs. Amherst quietly interposed.

"Yes--and it was so lucky for Justine too! When she came back from
Europe with us last autumn, I could see she simply hated the idea of
taking up her nursing again."

Amherst's face darkened at the allusion, and his mother said hurriedly:
"Ah, she was tired, poor child; but I'm only afraid that, after the
summer's rest, she may want some more active occupation than looking
after a little girl."

"Oh, I think not--she's so fond of Cicely. And of course it's everything
to her to have a comfortable home."

Mrs. Amherst smiled. "At her age, it's not always everything."

Mrs. Dressel stared slightly. "Oh, Justine's twenty-seven, you know;
she's not likely to marry now," she said, with the mild finality of the
early-wedded.

She rose as she spoke, extending cordial hands of farewell. "You must be
so busy preparing for the great day...if only it doesn't rain!... No,
_please_, Mr. Amherst!... It's a mere step--I'm walking...."

* * * * *

That afternoon, as Amherst walked out toward Westmore for a survey of
the final preparations, he found that, among the pleasant thoughts
accompanying him, one of the pleasantest was the anticipation of seeing
Justine Brent.

Among the little group who were to surround him on the morrow, she was
the only one discerning enough to understand what the day meant to him,
or with sufficient knowledge to judge of the use he had made of his
great opportunity. Even now that the opportunity had come, and all
obstacles were levelled, sympathy with his work was as much lacking as
ever; and only Duplain, at length reinstated as manager, really
understood and shared in his aims. But Justine Brent's sympathy was of a
different kind from the manager's. If less logical, it was warmer, more
penetrating--like some fine imponderable fluid, so subtle that it could
always find a way through the clumsy processes of human intercourse.
Amherst had thought very often of this quality in her during the weeks
which followed his abrupt departure for Georgia; and in trying to define
it he had said to himself that she felt with her brain.

And now, aside from th