it was my
fault. I wish you would let Dr. Ballard prescribe for you. I don't think
you are well."

"He does prescribe roses and chocolates, and I take them, don't I?"

"Yes, and after this you can have some golf. It will do you good."

To-day was the third during which Eloise had helped her cousin with
the morning lesson and brushed and braided her hair. Jewel had had many
minds about whether to tell Eloise of her escaped secret. An intuition
bade her refrain, but the sense of dishonesty was more than the
child could bear; so that morning, during the hair braiding, she had
confessed. She began thus:--

"I wrote to my father and mother last night how good you were to me."

"Did you tell them how good you were to me?" asked the girl, so kindly
that the child's heart leaped within her and she more than ever wished
that she had nothing to confess.

"I wish I could be, cousin Eloise; I meant to be, but error crept in."
The girl was learning something of the new phraseology, and she smiled
at Jewel in the glass and was surprised to find what troubled eyes met
hers. "I went to sleep that night waiting for grandpa to be through with
his book, and when I waked up he had read my letter."

Eloise's smile faded. "Tell me again what you said in it," she returned.

Jewel's lips quivered. "I said how kind you were, and washed my hair,
and asked me not to tell grandpa--"

"You put that in?" Eloise interrupted eagerly.

The child took courage from her changed tone. "Yes; I said you didn't
want him to know you were kind to me."

The girl smiled slightly and went on with her brushing.

"He wished he hadn't read it when he saw how sorry I was. He asked my
pardon and said he had done bad form. I don't know what that is."

"It's the worst thing that can happen to some people," returned Eloise.
"Good form is said to be the New York conscience."

"Oh," responded Jewel, not understanding, but too relieved and grateful
that her cousin was not unforgiving to press the matter.

Eloise fell into thought. Mr. Evringham had certainly been more genial
at table, conversation had been more general and sustained last evening
than ever before the advent of Jewel, and he had not sneered, either.
Eloise searched her memory for some word or look that might have given
hurt to her self-esteem, but she could find none.

On this evening Mr. Evringham was in unusual spirits at dinner time. He
told of the pleasure of Essex Maid at finding herself