eal about going to Europe. She was all flushed and running over with
talk, and after a while it came clear that she's just been engaged to
Mr. Gledware.

"It seemed to me it would be like fighting behind bushes to tell her
what I thought of Mr Gledware, while under his roof and at his expense,
so I opened up matters by talking about Wilfred Compton. I told her how
faithful and true Wilfred has been to her all these years, carrying her
letters next to his heart, and dreaming of her night and day, and how
he came to see me, once, because it had been two years since he'd seen
a sure-enough girl, and how I tried to interest him as hard as I could,
but he never wanted to come back because his heart belonged to Annabel.

"After a while she began to cry, but it wasn't over Wilfred, it was
over Edgerton. When Wilfred went away to be a cowboy she lost interest
and sympathy in him because she doesn't understand cowboys; they are
not in her imagination. But his brother Edgerton has always been a
city man in nice clothes with pleasing manners, and if he had money--
But what's the use talking? Seems like that's the worst waste of time
there can be, and the most aggravating, to say if so-and-so had money I
Because if he hasn't got it, somebody else has, and if you think
money's more than the man, there you are. And Mr. Gledware has it. He's
not the man but he has the money.

"Then I expressed myself. You know what I think. So does Annabel,
now. That's how I made me some news, when there wasn't any. The news
is, that Annabel will never forgive me, and as I'm here solely as her
guest, my guesting-time will be brief--just long enough to find out
what Mr. Gledware decides to do. I oughtn't to have told Annabel that
she was mercenary, or that Mr. Gledware was as hard as a stone and as
old as M-- (I'm not sure how to spell him, but you remember: the
oldest man). Yes, I know I oughtn't. If a woman can marry a man when
she doesn't love him, it won't change her purpose to know what YOU
think about it, because her own feelings are the biggest things that
could stand in the way.

"But I told her, anyway. Seemed like everything in me turned to words
and poured out without my having to keep it going. I just stood there
and watched myself say things. You see, Annabel is so dainty and
pretty, and naturally so sweet--and Mr. Gledware--well, he ISN'T. The
more I thought of that, and the better I remembered poor Wilfred pining
away f