tter to his sublimely selfish caddishness whether he broke
Frances Farquhar's heart or not. He got his freedom and he married
Maud Carroll in six months' time.

The Farquhars, especially Ned, who was Frances's older brother and
seldom concerned himself about her except when the family honour was
involved, were furious at the whole affair. Mr. Farquhar stormed, and
Ned swore, and Della lamented her vanished role of bridemaid. As for
Mrs. Farquhar, she cried and said it would ruin Frances's future
prospects.

The girl herself took no part in the family indignation meetings. But
she believed that her heart was broken. Her love and her pride had
suffered equally, and the effect seemed disastrous.

After a while the Farquhars calmed down and devoted themselves to the
task of cheering Frances up. This they did not accomplish. She got
through the rest of the season somehow and showed a proud front to the
world, not even flinching when Holcomb himself crossed her path. To be
sure, she was pale and thin, and had about as much animation as a
mask, but the same might be said of a score of other girls who were
not suspected of having broken hearts.

When the summer came Frances asserted herself. The Farquhars went to
Green Harbour every summer. But this time Frances said she would not
go, and stuck to it. The whole family took turns coaxing her and had
nothing to show for their pains.

"I'm going up to Windy Meadows to stay with Aunt Eleanor while you
are at the Harbour," she declared. "She has invited me often enough."

Ned whistled. "Jolly time you'll have of it, Sis. Windy Meadows is
about as festive as a funeral. And Aunt Eleanor isn't lively, to put
it in the mildest possible way."

"I don't care if she isn't. I want to get somewhere where people won't
look at me and talk about--that," said Frances, looking ready to cry.

Ned went out and swore at Holcomb again, and then advised his mother
to humour Frances. Accordingly, Frances went to Windy Meadows.

Windy Meadows was, as Ned had said, the reverse of lively. It was a
pretty country place, with a sort of fag-end by way of a little
fishing village, huddled on a wind-swept bit of beach, locally known
as the "Cove." Aunt Eleanor was one of those delightful people, so few
and far between in this world, who have perfectly mastered the art of
minding their own business exclusively. She left Frances in peace.

She knew that her niece had had "some love trouble or other,"