see her
old-time friend.

Miss Gannion wasted no words on conventional greeting.

"You dear child!" she said quietly. "I know a little about what has
happened; but it is all I need to know. Talk about it or not, just as
you choose."

Urged or repressed, Beatrix would have held herself steady, reticent.
All day long, she had kept herself quiet, going through her usual
domestic routine, answering notes of invitation and then methodically
sorting out the clothing she would need during her absence from town.
She had refused her mother's help and she had sent away her maid; it was
a relief to her to keep busy. Left to herself and idle, the future
easily could have occupied her whole attention; but as yet she was not
strong enough to face it. Strange to say, there had been no benumbing
effect of her sorrow. From the first hour, she had been able to grasp
with dreary clearness all its details, all its effect upon the present
and upon the future which now to her was freighted with a double burden
of anxiety and alarm.

All day long until late afternoon, she had forced this quiet upon
herself; but it could not go on indefinitely. Already the tug and wrench
upon her nerves was slackening, and Miss Gannion's words brought the
swift revulsion. The older woman shrank before the storm of passionate
sorrow. Then she braced herself to bear it, for she realized that it
was the flood which must inevitably follow the breaking down of the
dykes that for months had pent in the seas of a daily and hourly agony
such as a weaker soul than that of Beatrix could never know.

It was long before Beatrix dared trust her voice to speak, and then Miss
Gannion was startled at the utter dreariness of her tone.

"It has all been a horrible mistake," she said slowly. "I thought I was
stronger. I did believe that I could hold him, Miss Gannion. I didn't
rush into it carelessly, as most girls do. I knew all the danger. I
thought about it, and measured it against my strength and against the
strength of his love. I truly thought I could hold him."

"I know, dear," Miss Gannion said gently. "I thought so, too."

"But I couldn't. I did try, try my best. But it was no use. And yet, he
did love me, just as I did love him."

"Did love?" Miss Gannion questioned, for Beatrix had paused, as if
challenging her.

"Yes, did love. My love is dead, Miss Gannion."

"But it may come back."

"Never. It never can. He has killed it utterly. I am sorry. I don't