care of her ever since she was born
and had all the trouble of raising her. And if _I_ know it, she
shan't go to Lewisburg again and come home like this, all worn out!
_I just won't have it!_"

And it was not hard for everyone in the room, Timothy included, to
realize that Arethusa's future visits to her father would be few and
far between, if there were any.

But Miss Asenath, alone of all of them who loved her, dimly guessed at
Arethusa's real trouble. And she tried in every way she could to make
her tell, for Arethusa had written Miss Asenath pages and pages of
rhapsody of the Wonderful Mr. Bennet. But the girl veered away from
such a subject, however adroitly introduced, just like a scared rabbit.
So after a little while, Miss Asenath gave up her attempt to find out
definitely, and contented herself with showing Arethusa that no matter
what it was that was troubling her, Aunt 'Senath loved her as much as
ever. And her niece clung to the tenderness of this unfailing love as a
drowning man clings to a straw; it was the most that was left to her,
with the loss of Timothy's comradeship. She took that tonic Miss Eliza
procured for her with meek obedience, although it might seem as if Miss
Eliza had hunted until she had found the bitterest and nastiest that
she could find. But Arethusa only grew paler and thinner than ever; she
lost her appetite also, in spite of the tonic. Ere long, Miss Asenath's
intuition told her something else. It was Timothy causing this, she
believed, and not something that had happened in the City.

And it was Timothy.

He was as top-loftical and as haughty as possible. He made his visits
to the Farm of a scarcity and brevity that brought them near to being
no visits at all. Such times as he did condescend to come over to see
them, he spent the moments telling of all those gay affairs of which he
was a part and which Arethusa did not attend, with a brave show of
worldliness that deceived them all except Miss Asenath. Miss Eliza
shook her head over him. She did not like this change in Timothy.

Arethusa alternated between a desire to slap him for his suddenly
acquired society veneer which had such power to irritate her, and a
desire to weep the bitterest and most scalding tears for the
completeness of his defection. She could not help wondering, sometimes,
if he had, by any most uncanny chance, heard of that Episode at the
January Cotillion; and knew that Mr. Bennet had Kissed her and that she