been very greatly to blame, yet she could not
fix upon any definite juncture at which she had begun to go wrong. Her
engagement had been such a whirlwind of Fate. She had been carried off
her feet from the very beginning. And the deliverance from the home
bondage had seemed so fair a prospect. Now she was plunged, back again
into that bondage, and she was firmly convinced that no chance of freedom
would ever be offered to her again. Yet she knew that she had done right
to draw back. Regret it though she might again and again in the bitter
days to come, she knew--and she would always know--that at the eleventh
hour she had done right.

She had been true to the greatest impulse that had ever stirred
her soul. It had been at a frightful cost. She had sacrificed
everything--everything--to a vision that she might never realize. She
had cast away all the glitter and the wealth for this far greater thing
which yet could never be more to her than a golden dream. She had even
cast away love, and her heart still bled at the memory. But she had been
true--she had been true.

Not yet was the sacrifice ended. She knew that a cruel ordeal yet awaited
her. There was the morrow to be faced, the morrow with its renewal of
disgrace and punishment. Her mother was furious with her, so furious that
for the first time in her life her father had intervened on her behalf
and temporarily restrained the flow of wrath. Perhaps he had seen her
utter weariness, for he had advised her, not unkindly, to go to bed. She
had gone to her room, thankful to escape, but neither tea nor supper had
followed her thither. Billy had come to bid her good night long ago, but,
though he had not said so, he also, it seemed, was secretly disgusted
with her, and he had not lingered. It would be the same with everyone,
she thought to herself wearily. No one would ever realize how terribly
hard it had all been. No one would dream of extending any pity to her.
And of course she had done wrong. She knew it, was quite ready to admit
it. But the wrong had lain in accepting that overweaning lover of hers,
not in giving him up. Also, she ought to have found out long ago. She
wondered how it was she hadn't. It had never been a happy engagement.

Again her eyes wandered to the exquisite folds of that dress which she
was never to wear. How she had loved the thought of it and all the lovely
things that Isabel had procured for her! What would become of them all,
she wondered? Al