be seen the tops of the trees glistening in the
sunlight.

"And you haven't seen him? Why?" asked St. George wonderingly--he was
not sure he had heard her aright.

"I told him not to come," she replied in a positive tone.

St. George settled back in his chair. Had there been a clock in the room
its faintest tick would have rung out like a trip-hammer.

"Then you have had a quarrel: he has broken his promise to you and got
drunk again."

"No, he has never broken it; he has kept it as faithfully as Harry kept
his."

"You don't mean, Kate, that you have broken off your engagement?"

She reached over and picked up her parasol: "There never was any
engagement. I have always felt sorry for Mr. Willits and tried my best
to love him and couldn't--that is all. He understands it perfectly; we
both do. It was one of the things that couldn't be."

All sorts of possibilities surged one after the other through the old
diplomat's mind. A dim light increasing in intensity began to shine
about him. What it meant he dared not hope. "What does your father say?"
he asked slowly, after a pause in which he had followed every expression
that crossed her face.

"Nothing--and it wouldn't alter the case if he did. I am the best judge
of what is good for me." There was a certain finality in her cadences
that repelled all further discussion. He remembered having heard the
same ring before.

"When did all this happen?--this telling him not to come?" he persisted,
determined to widen the inquiry. His mind was still unable to fully
grasp the situation.

"About five weeks ago. Do you want to know the very night?" She turned
her head as she spoke and looked at him with her full, deep eyes.

"Yes, if you wish me to."

"The night Mr. Horn read 'The Cricket on the Hearth,'" she answered in a
tone of relief--as if some great crisis had marked the hour, the passing
of which had brought her infinite peace. "I told him when I got home,
and I have never seen him since."

For some seconds St. George did not move. He had turned from her and sat
with his head resting on his hand, his eyes intent on the smouldering
fire: he dare not trust himself to speak; wide ranges opened before him;
the light had strengthened until it was blinding. Kate sat motionless,
her hands in her lap, her eyes searching St. George's face for some
indication of the effect of her news. Then finding him still silent and
absorbed in his thoughts, she went on:

"There was