would cause to the dear ones, alive and well.

This somewhat complicated explanation might need policy and alteration,
but Miss Panney now felt quite ready for anything Ralph might ask about
the telegram. If any one else asked any questions, she would answer as
happened to please her.

As they drove away Miss Panney immediately began to congratulate Dora on
her return to her senses. She was in high good humor, "You ought to know,
my dear, that if the loveliest woman in the world found herself stuck in
a quagmire, it would be quite foolish for her to expect that the right
sort of man would come and pull her out. In all probability it would be
precisely the wrong sort of man who would do it. Consequently, it would
be wise in her if she saw the right sort of man going by, not only to let
him know that she was there, but to let him understand that she was worth
pulling out. All women are born in a quagmire, and some are so anxious to
get out that they take the first hand that is stretched toward them, and
some, I am sorry to say, never get out at all. But they are the wise
ones who do not leave it to chance, who shall be their liberators. Number
yourself, my dear, among this happy class. I am so glad it is cool enough
this morning for you to wear that lovely costume. It is as likely as not
that by tomorrow it will be too warm. All these little things tell, my
child, and I am glad to know that even the thermometer is your friend."

"I had a letter from Miriam yesterday afternoon," said Dora, "in which
she told me that her brother Ralph is engaged to Miss Drane."

Miss Panney turned around like a weather vane struck by a squall. She
seized the girl's arm with her bony fingers.

"What!" she exclaimed.

Ordinarily, the pain of the old lady's grasp would have made Dora wince,
but she did not seem to feel it. Without the slightest sign of emotion in
her face, she answered,--

"It is so. It happened while I was at Barport."

"Stop!" cried Miss Panney, in a voice that made the driver pull up his
horses with a jerk. In a moment she had stepped from the low carriage to
the ground, and with quick strides was walking back to the Witton house.
Dora turned in the seat, looked after her, and laughed. It was a sudden,
bitter laugh, which the circumstances made derisive.

Never before had Miss Panney's soul been so stung, burned, and
lacerated, all at once, as by this laugh. But the sound had scarcely
left Dora Bannister's lips w