y thrust her
pill box behind her.

"Randall is downstairs asking for you, Avery."

Avery sat up, looking annoyed. She had not expected Randall that
evening and would greatly have preferred a continuance of her nap. She
went down crossly enough, but looking very lovely, flushed from sleep.
Janet stood in their room, clasping her cold hands nervously over her
breast. Would the charm work? Oh, she must know--she must know. She
could not wait. After a few moments that seemed like years she crept
down the stairs and out into the dusk of the June-warm September
night. Like a shadow she slipped up to the open parlour window and
looked cautiously in between the white muslin curtains. The next
minute she had fallen on her knees in the mint bed. She wished she
could die then and there.

The young man in the parlour was not Randall Burnley. He was dark and
smart and handsome; he was sitting on the sofa by Avery's side,
holding her hands in his, smiling into her rosy, delighted, excited
face. And he was Bruce Gordon--no doubt of that. Bruce Gordon, the
expected cousin from Scotland!

"Oh, what have I done? What have I done?" moaned poor Janet, wringing
her hands. She had seen Avery's face quite plainly--had seen the look
in her eyes. Avery had never looked at Randall Burnley like that.
Granny Thomas' abominable ointment had worked all right--and Avery had
fallen in love with the wrong man.

Janet, cold with horror and remorse, dragged herself up to the window
again and listened. She must know--she must be sure. She could hear
only a word here and there, but that word was enough.

"I thought you promised to wait for me, Avery," Bruce said
reproachfully.

"You were so long in coming back--I thought you had forgotten me,"
cried Avery.

"I think I did forget a little, Avery. I was such a boy. But
now--well, thank Heaven, I haven't come too late."

There was a silence, and shameless Janet, peering above the window
sill, saw what she saw. It was enough. She crept away upstairs to her
room. She was lying there across the bed when Avery swept in--a
splendid, transfigured Avery, flushed triumphant. Janet sat up,
pallid, tear-stained, and looked at her.

"Janet," said Avery, "I am going to marry Bruce Gordon next Wednesday
night instead of Randall Burnley."

Janet sprang forward and caught Avery's hand.

"You must not," she cried wildly. "It's all my fault--oh, if I could
only die--I got the love ointment from Granny Thomas