aration was imminent. She extricated herself with a feeling of
unspeakable relief. It would not be a simple matter to refuse him. Their
relations had been peculiar, and to tell him that she did not love him
would not suffice in bringing them to an end. Mr. Copple was odious to
her. She could not have explained why clearly, yet she knew. And she
would have blushed in the attempt to explain why; it would have revealed
a detestation of her lot. Clara had lately discovered the meaning of the
word "plebeian"; more, she believed she comprehended its applicableness.
The word was a burr in her thoughts. Mr. Copple was the personification
of the word. Clara had not repulsed him. You do not do that sort of
thing in a small town. She knew intuitively that the clergyman would
not be satisfied with the statement that he was not loved. She also knew
that he would extract part, at least, of the real reason from her. It is
more painful for a lover to learn that he is not liked than that he is
not loved. Clara did not wish to cause him pain.

She was spared the necessity. The minister fell from a scaffolding on
the new church and was picked up dead.

Clara's position was pitiful. Sudden death does not grow less shocking
because of its frequency. Clara shared the common shock, but not the
common grief. Fortunately, as hers was supposed to be a peculiar grief,
she could manifest it in a peculiar way. She chose silence. The shock
had bereft her of much thought. Death had laid a hand over the mouth of
her mind. But deep down a feeling of relief swam in her heart. She gave
it no welcome, but it would take no dismissal.

About a week after the funeral, Clara, who walked out much alone, was
returning home near the outskirts of town. The houses were far apart,
and between them stretched deep lots fringed with flowered weeds
man-high. A level sun shot long golden needles through the blanched
maple-trees, and the street beneath them was filled with lemon-colored
light. The roll of a light vehicle approaching from behind grew distinct
enough to attract Clara's attention. "It is Mrs. Custer coming back from
the Poor Farm," she thought. It was Mrs. Everett Custer, who was
formerly the younger Miss Rockwood, and she was coming from the Poor
Farm. The phaeton came into Clara's sight beside her at the curb. As she
remarked it, Mrs. Custer said, in her thin, sympathetic voice, "Miss
Leeds, won't you drive with me back to town? I wish you would."

An