o that it would be impossible for them
to return to their hotel until late afternoon.

For many reasons it seemed best that Mrs. Burton should be alone when
she received the visit from Gerry. Surely Gerry would wish to have at
least this first interview without interruption!

Believing it impossible that her guest could arrive before noon, Mrs.
Burton spent the early hours of the morning in writing letters to her
husband and sister, including several business notes as well. She would
not confess it to herself; nevertheless she felt nervous over her first
meeting with Gerry, for although only a few weeks had passed they had
been crowded so tragically close with events in Gerry's life and in her
own. There had been the unexpected tragedy of Billy's death, Billy who
had been so unlike other boys in his life and in his final beautiful
surrender of life.

Therefore when a knock came at her sitting-room door at some time
between half-past ten and eleven, presuming one of the hotel servants
was outside, Mrs. Burton said, "Come in," without raising her eyes from
the paper upon which she was writing.

Afterwards the door opened softly and the next instant some one had
entered the room, but instead of attending to whatever duty had made the
intrusion necessary, the figure stood hesitating just inside the
threshold.

After a little while, becoming vaguely conscious of this fact, Mrs.
Burton glanced up.

"Gerry, you poor child!" she exclaimed with such sudden, warm sympathy
and with such an utter lack of criticism or reproach that any human
being would have been moved to gratitude and remorse.

Gerry stumbled forward. Poor Gerry, who had changed so completely in the
past few weeks that even her delicate prettiness seemed to have vanished
forever! She was so white and worn looking, so thin and unhappy.

"Then you forgive me?" she began.

Mrs. Burton took both her hands.

"We are not going to talk about forgiveness. You had your own life to
live, Gerry, and it was natural that you should do the thing you
supposed to be for your happiness without thinking of your gratitude or
obligation to me. If it had been for your happiness I should not have
expected you to think of me, although it would have been kinder of you.
But of course, dear, when girls do reckless things, the reason older
persons are grieved and angry is because of the consequences they are
sure to bring upon themselves. Being young you cannot understand this!