me of her?"

He blurted the question point-blank, and Willa smiled in spite of
herself.

"Tia Juana, you mean? Did Mr. Wiley say she had left her home? I
never heard of her doing that before," she remarked innocently enough.

"It seems she disappeared some time ago, and no one knows what happened
to her. She must have been a queer old bird."

"Why are you so interested in her?"

He started, blinking at the swift directness of the question.

"Oh, I was thinking what a hit she'd make telling fortunes at some of
the charity bazaars, if she ever came up here. People are always so
nutty about anything new and a genuine witch would be a sensation."

"Tia Juana is not a witch and she doesn't tell fortunes. She is a
little bit peculiar, perhaps, like many other very old people, but that
is all." Willa laughed lightly. "Mr. Wiley must have been stringing
you! What else did he tell you about Mexico?"

But Vernon's mind was apparently hazy on the subject of his friend's
further reminiscences, and he left her at the door with ill-concealed
alacrity. She knew that the conversation had not been uninspired, and
his otherwise futile questions had served a useful purpose in
forewarning her.

"You will go to the opera with us to-night?" It was more a query than
a command which Mrs. Halstead addressed to her. "We are going on
afterward to the Judsons', but we can drop you at home if you don't
care to accompany us."

"Thank you, no," Willa responded. "If you don't mind I think I will
stay quietly at home this evening, but I'll try to keep my engagements
in future. I wish there were not quite so many of them!"

"That can be arranged," Mrs. Halstead assured her stiffly. "I wish to
give you every opportunity to meet all the eligible people in our
circle and then you must select your own friends."

The truce between them was evidently to be an armed one, but it was a
respite at least. Willa realized that her cousin would not soon
forgive defeat at her hands, but her attitude was more fortuitous than
open war.

She had intended to write a long-delayed letter to Jim Baggott, but
after the family departed and she settled herself at her desk, the
words would not frame themselves in her thoughts. A spirit of unrest
took possession of her, a sensation of suspense which did not lighten
with the dragging minutes, and in despair she flung down her pen and
wandered into the music-room.

Piano lessons had appeared to Wil