s."

"I shall see that you get there safely," warned Breck. "I've rights
while you're under this roof."

"It isn't necessary, Breck. I often walk. I'm used to going about alone.
But do as you please. However, if you do come, I'm going to ask you not
to treat me as if--as if--as you just did. I've given all that to
somebody else."

"Somebody else," he echoed.

"Yes," I nodded. "Yes, Breck; yes--somebody else."

"Oh!" he said. "Oh!" and stared at me. I could see it hit him.

"I'll go and put my things on," I explained, and went away.

When I came back he was standing just where I had left him. Something
moved me to go up and speak to him. I had never seen Breckenridge Sewall
look like this.

"Good-night, Breck," I said. "I'm sorry."

"You! Sorry!" he laughed horribly. Then he added, "This isn't the last
chapter--not by a long shot. You can go alone tonight--but
remember--this isn't the last chapter."

I rode away feeling a little uneasy. I longed to talk to some one. What
did he mean? What did he threaten? If only Esther--but no, we had never
been personal. She knew as little about the circumstances of my life as
I about hers. She could not help me. Anyway it proved upon my arrival at
the rooms in Irving Place that Esther was not there.

I sat down and tried to imagine what Breck could imply by the "last
chapter." At any rate I decided that the next one was to resign my
position as Mrs. Sewall's secretary. That was clear. I wrote to her in
my most careful style. I told her that until she was able to replace me,
I would do my best to carry on her correspondence in my rooms in Irving
Place. She could send her orders to me by the chauffeur; I was sorry; I
hoped she would appreciate my position; she had been very good to me;
Breckenridge would explain everything, and I was hers faithfully, Ruth
Chenery Vars.

Esther didn't come back all night--nor even the next day. I could have
sallied forth and found some of our old associates, I suppose; but I
knew that they would all still be discussing the parade, and somehow I
wanted no theorizing, no large thinking. I wanted no discussion of the
pros and cons of big questions and reforms. I wanted a little practical
advice--I wanted somebody's sympathetic hand.

About seven o'clock the next evening, the telephone which Esther and I
had indulged in interrupted my lonely contemplations with two abrupt
little rings. I got up and answered it weakly. I feared it would be Mrs