to break
into further speech, then set her red lips with decision and remained
silent.

Seated beside her on a willow settee, which they had occupied together
since repairing to the veranda after dinner, Grace alone noticed
Arline's sharply drawn brows and the sudden ominous tightening of her
baby mouth. She wondered vaguely what it might mean. Surely Arline was
not angry because Elfreda had begged for the privilege of holding the
reunion at Wildwood. She was of too sunny a disposition to become thus
disturbed by such trifles. She had always been far more ready to give
than take. Grace now recalled that even in the midst of Arline's joy at
seeing her, there had been a hauntingly wistful look in the dainty
little girl's blue eyes.

Under cover of Kathleen West's lively account of a big story which she
had run to earth after a week's assiduous pursuit, Grace's kindly hand
found Arline's.

"What is the matter, Daffydowndilly?" she asked just above a whisper.
"You don't appear to be quite your usual cheerful self."

"You noticed, then?" counter-questioned Arline in an equally guarded
tone. "I'm glad you did. Still, I was going to tell you, anyway. Wait
until later. I have arranged for you to room with me to-night. Then I'll
tell you all. But not now. No one else must know."

With a soft pressure that betokened loyal sympathy, Grace released
Arline's little hand and turned her attention to Kathleen, who was
holding her small audience spellbound by a recital of the very audacity
of her deeds as a star reporter.

"Won't you miss all that when winter comes and you cease to be Kathleen
West?" questioned Anne, a trifle anxiously. She too had had to decide
between publicity and love. "You've lived in a whirl of exciting
happenings so long that settling down for good will seem rather tame."

"I shall love it." Kathleen's sharp black eyes glowed with intensity.
"Trailing news is all right for a few years, but I'd hate to go on with
it forever. There are so many things I'd like to do that I've never had
the time to dream of doing. I'm going to keep on writing, just the same
as ever. Neither Gerald nor I care to begin making a home just yet. We
shall board and write in the evenings together. You see he is the
literary editor of _Crawford's Magazine_ now. That means that we can
spend our evenings together. We are going to collaborate on a play and,
oh, we have planned to do lots of things. I imagine we shall carry out
some of