to get my mind off others, for of late I
have gotten to an almost morbid alertness, and I know by the very way
Peggy ran up the stairs that something ailed her even before I caught a
glimpse of her face, which showed me that she was going straight to her
room to cry.

This sort of thing had happened too often, and I made up my mind I would
not live in this moral fog another moment. So I went to Ada.

"Ada," I said, "I am your mother, and I think I have a right to ask you
a question. I want to know this: what has that young man been doing?"

"I suppose you mean Harry," Ada answered. "He hasn't been doing
anything. Peggy's a little upset because he isn't a good correspondent.
You know how girls feel--"

"Don't tell ME, Ada," said I. "I know better. There's more in it than
that. Peggy's a sensible girl. There's something wrong, and I want you
to tell me what it is." Younger people don't realize how bad it can be
to be left to worry alone in the dark.

Ada sat down with a discouraged air such as I have seldom seen her with.
I went over to her and took her hand in mine.

"Tell mother what's worrying you, dear," I said, gently.

"Why, it's all so absurd," Ada answered. "I can't make head or tail of
it. Aunt Elizabeth came to me full of mystery soon after she came back,
and told me that Harry Goward had become infatuated with her when she
was off on one of her visits--"

I couldn't help exclaiming, "Well, of all things!"

"That's not the queerest part," Ada went on. "She told me as confidently
as could be that he is still in love with her."

"Ada," said I, "Elizabeth Talbert must be daft! Does she think that all
the men in the world are in love with her--at her age? First Mrs. Temple
making such a rumpus, and now this--"

"At first I thought just as you do," Ada said, helplessly. "Of course
there can't be anything in it--and yet--I'm sure I don't understand the
situation at all. You know Harry left quite unexpectedly--soon after
Elizabeth came; he didn't write for a week--and then to her, and Peggy's
only had one short note from him--"

I can see through a hole in a millstone as well as any one, and a light
dawned on me.

"You can depend upon it, Ada," I said, "Aunt Elizabeth has been making
trouble! I don't know what she's been up to, but she's been up to
something! I wondered why she had been having such a contented look
lately--and now I know."

"Oh, mother, I can't believe that!" Ada protested. "I thought