ion I
wanted to ask you."

She was silent.

"Edith, I really think I have a right to know?"

Still she didn't speak.

"Of course, if there _is_--"

"There isn't!" she broke in.... "Why, Johnny, you're the best friend I
have. No; there isn't anybody else. The honest truth is, I don't believe
I'm the sort of girl that gets married. I can't imagine caring for
_anybody_ as much as I care for father and mother and Maurice. I--I'm
not sentimental, Johnny, a bit. I'm awfully fond of you; _awfully_! You
come next to Maurice. But--but not that way. That's the truth, Johnny.
I'm perfectly straight with you; you know that? And you won't throw me
over, will you? If I lost you, I declare I--I don't know what I'd do!
You won't give me up, will you?"

John Bennett was silent for a long minute; then he said, "No, Edith;
I'll never give you up, dear." And he went away into the darkness.

CHAPTER XXII

Edith's flight to one of the schoolhouses was not the entire release
that Eleanor expected.

"Look here, Skeezics," Maurice had announced; "you can't turn me down
this way! You've got to come to supper every Sunday night!--when I'm at
home. Isn't that so, Nelly?"

Eleanor said, bleakly: "Why, if Edith would _like_ to, of course. But I
shouldn't think she'd care to come in to town at six, and rush out to
Medfield right after supper."

"I don't mind," Edith said.

"You bet she won't rush off right after supper!" Maurice said; "I won't
let her. And if she doesn't get in here by three o'clock, I'll know the
reason why!"

So Edith came in every Sunday afternoon at three--and Eleanor never left
her alone with Maurice for a moment! She sat and watched them; saw
Edith's unconcealed affection for Maurice, saw Maurice's pleasure in
Edith, saw his entire forgetfulness of herself,--and as she sat,
silently, watching, watching, jealousy was like a fire in her breast.

However, in spite of Eleanor, sitting on the other side of the fire, in
bitter silence, those Sunday afternoons were delightful to Edith. She
and Maurice were more serious with each other now. His feeling about her
was that she was a mighty pretty girl, who had sense, and who, as he
expressed it, "spoke his language." Her feeling about him was a frankly
expressed appreciation which Eleanor called "flattery." She had an eager
respect for his opinions, based on admiration for what she called to
herself his hard-pan goodness. "How he keeps civil to Eleanor, _I_ don