meal, when I'm lying here suffering."

At the end of an interval a maid appeared in the doorway to say that
Miss Carroll sent word she would not be down again for a time, and did
not care for any more dinner. This seemed to relieve the general's mind
of responsibility. He assumed his little fussy air of cheerfulness,
told several stories of the war, and finally, after Kendrick had left,
brought out some whisky and water. He winked slyly at Orde.

"Can't do this before the youngsters, you know," he chirruped craftily.

Throughout the meal Gerald had sat back silent, a faint amusement in his
eye. After dinner he arose, yawned, consulted his watch, and departed,
pleading an engagement. Orde lingered some time, listening to the
general, in the hope that Carroll would reappear. She did not, so
finally he took his leave.

He trudged back to his hotel gloomily. The day had passed in a most
unsatisfactory manner, according to his way of looking at it. Yet he had
come more clearly to an understanding of the girl; her cheerfulness, her
unselfishness, and, above all, the sweet, beautiful philosophy of life
that must lie back, to render her so uncomplainingly the slave of the
self-willed woman, yet without the indifferent cynicism of Gerald, the
sullen, yet real, partisanship of Kendrick, or the general's week-kneed
acquiescence.

The next morning he succeeded in making an arrangement by letter for an
excursion to the newly projected Central Park. Promptly at two o'clock
he was at the Bishops' house. To his inquiry the butler said that Mrs.
Bishop had recovered from her indisposition, and that Miss Bishop would
be down immediately. Orde had not long to wait for her. The SWISH,
PAT-PAT of her joyous descent of the stairs brought him to his feet. She
swept aside the portieres, and stood between their folds, bidding him
welcome.

"I'm so sorry about last night," said she, "but poor mother does depend
on me so at such times. Isn't it a gorgeous day to walk? It won't be
much like OUR woods, will it? But it will be something. OH, I'm so glad
to get out!"

She was in one of her elfish moods, the languid grace of her sleepy-eyed
moments forgotten. With a little cry of rapture she ran to the piano,
and dashed into a gay, tinkling air with brilliancy and abandon. Her
head, surmounted by a perky, high-peaked, narrow-brimmed hat, with a
flaming red bird in front, glorified by the braid and "waterfall" of
that day, bent forward and tur