it and see," said Helen.

In the morning the brilliant visitor took her departure, and the
half-house fell back into its usual quietude. Anne did not go with
Helen; but Helen avowed her purpose of bringing her to Caryl's yet, in
spite of fate. "I am not easily defeated," she said. "When I wish a
thing, it always happens. But, like the magicians, nobody notices how
hard I have worked to have it happen."

She departed. And within a week she filled Caryl's with descriptions of
Jeanne-Armande, the velvet bodice, the beet-root skirt, the blue room,
the white cats, and the dinner, together with the solitary pupil, whose
knowledge of _botany_ was something unparalleled in the history of the
science. Caryl's was amused with the descriptions, and cared nothing for
the reality. But when Miss Vanhorn heard the tale, it was the reality
that menaced her. No one knew as yet the name of the solitary pupil, nor
the relationship to herself; but of course Mrs. Lorrington was merely
biding her time. What was her purpose? In her heart she pondered over
this new knowledge of botany, expressly paraded by Helen; her own eyes
and hands were not as sure and deft as formerly. Sometimes now when she
stooped to gather a flower, it was only a leaf with the sun shining on
it, or a growth of fungus, yellowly white. "Of course it is all a plan
of old Moreau's," she said to herself. "Anne would never have thought of
studying botany to gain my favor; she hasn't wit enough. It is old
Moreau and the Lorrington together. Let us see what will be their next
step."

But Helen merely decorated her stories, and told nothing new. One day
some one asked: "But who is this girl? All this while you have not told
us; nor the place where this remarkable half-house is."

"I am not at liberty to tell," replied Helen's clear even voice. "That
is not permitted--at present."

Miss Vanhorn fidgeted in her corner, and put up her glass to catch any
wandering expressions that might be turning in her direction; but there
were none. "She is giving me a chance of having Anne here peaceably,"
she thought. "If, after a reasonable time, I do not accept it, she will
declare war, and the house will ring with my hard-heartedness.
Fortunately I do not care for hard-heartedness."

She went off on her solitary drive; mistook two flowers; stumbled and
hurt her ankle; lost her magnifying-glass. On her way home she sat and
meditated. It would be comfortable to have young eyes and hands