ose whom
we love to be happy; but we want them to be happy with us and through
us. This is where Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald comes into the plot. Without
her, nothing could have happened as it is happening.

I shall never forget that first scene between the girl and her mother. I
knew it would not be recorded in that poor little "book" of Barrie's,
which every day she was writing and hiding. I thought that the book,
which had no doubt been leading up to this scene, would probably stop
short at the last sentence breathing hope of it.

Not that I have seen what she wrote. It was I who put the idea of
writing into her head; but, though she didn't guess it, that was only
done to give myself the right of Mentor when I still supposed we should
all start gayly off together for Edinburgh from Carlisle. I suggested
that she and I should "collaborate." Ha, ha! I believe "ha, _ha_," by
the way, is an ejaculation confined entirely to thwarted villains in
stageland; but if I am a villain, I'm not thwarted yet.

Aline's attack of temper, which upset everything, upset that scheme
among the rest; but it seems the impulse I gave, pushed Barrie on to
achieve something literary. Only, she steadily refused to let me see a
line she wrote. The sole pleasure I got out of her taking my advice was
in Somerled's face when I teased the girl about her "work." If he had
been teaching her to sketch and paint I should have felt the same.

He is afraid of himself, because she has captured his thoughts; and
afraid of her, because she's Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald's daughter. When
he sees her followed by a trail of young men, like a bright comet with a
tail it's been busily collecting in a journey through space, he asks
himself whether this is going to be Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald over
again? He wonders if he dare believe in the kindness of Barrie's smiles
for him, or whether his portion is no better than those she deals out
gayly to the rest of us. At least, this is as I judge him, though from
the first we've exchanged no confidences on the subject of "Mrs. Bal" or
Barrie her daughter.

Somerled knew Mrs. Bal in America. I never made her acquaintance, but I
saw her act in Montreal every night of her engagement there. I couldn't
keep away--yet I didn't want to meet her. I thought perhaps if I did I
should be ass enough to fall in love. That is the truth. A good many
fellows of my acquaintance, and others I'd heard of, had fallen in love,
and had been f