was situated so far from the road, behind its grove of
trees, that nothing whatever could be seen.

"I doubt if Eudora tells, if he does call--that is, not unless something
definite happens," said Anna.

"No," remarked Amelia, sadly. "Eudora is a dear, but she is very silent
with regard to her own affairs."

"She ought to be," said Sophia, with her married authority. She was, to
her sisters, as one who had passed within the shrine and was dignifiedly
silent with regard to its intimate mysteries.

"I suppose so," assented Anna, with a soft sigh. Amelia sighed also.
Then she took the tea-tray out of the room. She had to make some
biscuits for supper.

Meantime Eudora was pacing homeward with the baby-carriage. Her serene
face was a little perturbed. Her oval cheeks were flushed, and her mouth
now and then trembled. She had, if she followed her usual course, to
pass the Wellwood Inn, but she could diverge, and by taking a side
street and walking a half-mile farther reach home without coming in
sight of the inn. She did so to-day.

When she reached the side street she turned rather swiftly and gave a
little sigh of relief. She was afraid that she might meet Harry Lawton.
It was a lonely way. There was a brook on one side, bordered thickly
with bushy willows which were turning gold-green. On the other side
were undulating pasture-lands on which grazed a few sheep. There were
no houses until she reached the turn which would lead back to the main
street, on which her home was located.

Eudora was about midway of this street when she saw a man approaching.
He was a large man clad in gray, and he was swinging an umbrella.
Somehow the swing of that umbrella, even from a distance, gave an
impression of embarrassment and boyish hesitation. Eudora did not know
him at first. She had expected to see the same Harry Lawton who had gone
away. She did not expect to see a stout, middle-aged man, but a slim
youth.

However, as they drew nearer each other, she knew; and curiously enough
it was that swing of the tightly furled umbrella which gave her the
clue. She knew Harry because of that. It was a little boyish trick which
had survived time. It was too late for her to draw back, for he had seen
her, and Eudora was keenly alive to the indignity of abruptly turning
and scuttling away with the tail of her black silk swishing, her India
shawl trailing, and the baby-carriage bumping over the furrows. She
continued, and Harry Lawton c