olutely, beautifully true. Believing all the time
that he had forgotten, she was now proved false.

Swiftly upon the thought came another which sent the blood to her face.
In all the time she had been in East Lancaster, she had feared that he
might in some way learn of her presence, and now there was nothing she
desired so much. Had Aunt Peace lived, she would scarcely have dared to
continue the acquaintance, for, like Doctor Brinkerhoff, the Master was
without "social position."

Iris, too, had gone--no one need know but Lynn. Herr Kaufmann did not
know the name of the man she had married, and he thought Lynn's mother
a stranger. It would be very simple to write the Master a note, saying
that he had been so good to Lynn and had done so much for him that his
mother would like to express her appreciation personally, and end by
asking him to call.

But would the old promise still keep him away? As though it were
yesterday, Margaret remembered her mother as she sternly demanded from
Franz his promise never to enter the house again--and Franz was one who
always kept his word.

Then she reflected that on the day when Aunt Peace received guests for
the last time he had been there, in that very house, with the Cremona,
which had separated them in the beginning and, years later, so strangely
brought them together.

Doctor Brinkerhoff had asked permission to bring his friend, and it
would be so simple to give it. So easy to say: "Doctor, it would give me
pleasure to meet your friend, Herr Kaufmann. Will you not bring him with
you next Wednesday evening?" But, after all the years, all the sorrow
that lay between them, would she wish Doctor Brinkerhoff to be there?
Was it not also taking an unfair advantage of the Master, to send for
him, and then suddenly confront him with his sweetheart of long ago?
Margaret put the plan aside without further thought.

And Lynn--would she wish Lynn to bring Herr Kaufmann? Would she want her
son to tell him that she was the woman he had loved in vain a quarter of
a century ago? Margaret flushed crimson as she imagined the meeting.
Lynn did not know that it was the Master--only that she had cared for
someone whom she did not marry. Would she wish Lynn to stand by,
surprised and perhaps troubled? Her heart answered no.

The note, too, would be an unfair advantage. He would not know "Margaret
Irving," and she could not well write that they had once loved each
other. After all, she had only D