s surface.

With her own eyes she had seen Miss St. Clair weeping, while Harlan held
her hands and explained that he was married. Undoubtedly Miss St. Clair
accounted for various metropolitan delays and absences which she had
joyously forgiven on the score of Harlan's "work." Bitterest of all was
the thought that she must endure it--that the long years ahead of her
offered no escape, no remedy, except the ignoble, painful one which she
would not for a moment consider.

A sudden flash of resentment stiffened her backbone, metaphorically
speaking. In spite of Miss St. Clair, Harlan had married her, and it was
Miss St. Clair who was weeping over the event, not Harlan. She had seen
that the visitor made Harlan unhappy--very well, she would generously
throw them together and make him painfully weary of her, for Love's
certain destroyer is Satiety. Deep in Dorothy's consciousness was the
abiding satisfaction that she had never once, as she put it to herself,
"chased him." Never a note, never a telephone call, never a question as to
his coming and going appeared now to trouble her. The ancient, primeval
relation of the Seeker and the Sought had not for a single moment been
altered through her.

Meanwhile, Elaine had settled down peacefully enough. Having been regaled
since infancy with tales of Uncle Ebeneezer's generous hospitality, it
seemed only fitting and proper that his relatives should make her welcome,
even though Elaine's mother had been only a second cousin of Mrs.
Judson's. Elaine had been deeply touched by Harlan's solicitude and
Dorothy's kindness, seeing in it nothing more than the manifestation of a
beautiful spirit toward one who was helpless and ill.

A modest wardrobe and a few hundred dollars, saved from the wreck of her
mother's estate, and the household furniture in storage, represented
Elaine's worldly goods. As too often happens in a material world, she had
been trained to do nothing but sing a little, play a little, and paint
unspeakably. She planned, vaguely, to stay where she was during the
Summer, and in the Autumn, when she had quite recovered her former
strength, to take her money and learn some method of self-support.

Just now she was resting. A late breakfast, a walk through the country, a
light luncheon, and a long nap accounted for Elaine's day until
dinner-time. After dinner, for an hour, she exchanged commonplaces with
the Carrs, then retired to her own room with a book from Uncle Ebenee