e
thrown more constantly together. Keene appeared to encourage their
companionship. He watched them curiously, sometimes, not as if he
were jealous, but rather as if he were interested in some delicate
experiment. At other times he would be singularly indifferent to
everything, remote, abstracted, forgetful.

Dorothy's birthday, which fell in mid-October, was kept as a holiday.
In the morning everyone had some little birthday gift for her,
except Keene. He had forgotten the birthday entirely. The shadow of
disappointment that quenched the brightness of her face was pitiful.
Even he could not be blind to it. He flushed as if surprised, and
hesitated a moment, evidently in conflict with himself. Then a look of
shame and regret came into his eyes. He made some excuse for not going
with us to the picnic, at the Black Brook Falls, with which the day was
celebrated. In the afternoon, as we all sat around the camp-fire, he
came swinging through the woods with his long, swift stride, and going
at once to Dorothy laid a little brooch of pearl and opal in her hand.

"Will you forgive me?" he said. "I hope this is not too late. But I lost
the train back from Newburg and walked home. I pray that you may never
know any tears but pearls, and that there may be nothing changeable
about you but the opal."

"Oh, Edward!" she cried, "how beautiful! Thank you a thousand times. But
I wish you had been with us all day. We have missed you so much!"

For the rest of that day simplicity and clearness and joy came back to
us. Keene was at his best, a leader of friendly merriment, a master of
good-fellowship, a prince of delicate chivalry. Dorothy's loveliness
unfolded like a flower in the sun.

But the Indian summer of peace was brief. It was hardly a week before
Keene's old moods returned, darker and stranger than ever. The girl's
unconcealable bewilderment, her sense of wounded loyalty and baffled
anxiety, her still look of hurt and wondering tenderness, increased
from day to day. John Graham's temper seemed to change, suddenly and
completely. From the best-humoured and most careless fellow in the
world, he became silent, thoughtful, irritable toward everyone except
Dorothy. With Keene he was curt and impatient, avoiding him as much as
possible, and when they were together, evidently struggling to keep down
a deep dislike and rising anger. They had had sharp words when they were
alone, I was sure, but Keene's coolness seemed to grow with