him. He felt, when he read a certain item in a
letter from his mother, as though he had received a violent blow in the
midriff. He had ridden down to the station at mail-time, and opened
this letter on his way back. The portion of its contents that so undid
him ran as follows:

"What I am going to tell you now, my dear boy, is a family secret as
yet. Eleanor is delighted. I reserve my opinion. I wish to hear what
_you_ think on the subject. Of course, from a worldly standpoint the
match is a very brilliant one for Belinda...." For _Belinda_?... Loring
held the letter nearer his eyes. He thought that he must have read the
name wrong. His mother's writing was not always easy to read. No. It was
plain enough this time. The word was "Belinda." His eyes gulped the
following pages. "She seems in high spirits--but then her spirits are
always high. But I must explain. She is engaged to Lewis Cuthbridge. He
was in your set at Harvard, he tells me. He is certainly what people
would call very handsome, and, as you know, the Cuthbridges are
extremely rich. But I don't care for that kind of good looks myself. He
is too red and white and black for a man in your old mother's opinion. I
like a more distinguished type...."

"God! Get on ... get on ... get on!..." Loring was raging in his mind.
His eyes glanced avidly ahead. He read: "They certainly seem very much
in love with each other. Belinda, I think, shows all her feelings far
too openly. They make a very striking couple. But haven't I heard that
Lewis Cuthbridge was rather 'wild'? I surely have that impression. I
should have preferred a more settled character for Belinda. Some one of
mature opinions--a professional man, steady in his habits...."

"Get on ... _get on_ ... can't you?..." Loring's thought was urging
angrily again. He skipped ahead.

"What gives me the greatest concern, though, is that the whole affair is
to be so hurried. They are to be married at Christmas, and go straight
to India. It seems that Belinda is very anxious to see the East. But the
engagement will not be announced until the last part of November. I am
most anxious to talk with you about this young man," _et cetera, et
cetera_.

Loring crammed the letter into his pocket. The glare of the sunlight on
the sheet of white paper had set reddish spots dancing before his eyes.
He rode on in a wild flare of outraged protest for half a mile, the
horse going as it willed, at a lazy walk. Suddenly it snorted a