ng people suppose; she forgot that ordinary eyes can not
see the invisible weights which make ten minutes--nay, five--with one
person outbalance a whole day with another. In the brief diary which she
had kept for Helen, Dexter's name occurred far more frequently than
Heathcote's, and Helen had judged from that. Others did the same, with
their eyes. If old Katharine had so far honored her niece as to question
her, she might have learned something more; but she did not question,
she relied upon her own sagacity. It is a dispensation of Providence
that the old, no matter how crowded their own youth may have been,
always forget. What old Katharine now forgot was this: if a man like
Gregory Dexter is conspicuously devoted to one woman, but always in the
presence of others, making no attempt to secure her attention for a few
moments alone here and there, it is probable that there is another woman
for whom he keeps those moments, and a hidden feeling stronger than the
one openly displayed. Rachel never allowed observable devotion. This,
however, did not forbid the unobserved.

"Grandaunt," began Anne, as the carriage rolled along the country road.
Her voice faltered a little, and she paused to steady it.

"Wait a day," said Miss Vanhorn, with grim sarcasm; "then there will be
nothing to tell. It is always so with girls."

It was her nearest approach to good-humor: Anne took courage. "The
summer is nearly over, grandaunt--"

"I have an almanac."

"--and, as school will soon begin--"

"In about three weeks."

"--I should like to go back to Mademoiselle until then, if you do not
object."

Miss Vanhorn put up her eyeglass, and looked at her niece; then she
laughed, sought for a caraway-seed, and by good luck found one, and
deposited it safely in the tight grasp of her glittering teeth. She
thought Anne was jealous of Mr. Dexter's attentions to Helen.

"You need not be afraid, child," she said, still laughing. "If you have
a rival, it is the Egyptian, and not that long white creature you call
your friend."

"I am unhappy here, grandaunt. Please let me go."

"Girls are always unhappy, or thinking themselves so. It is one of their
habits. Of course you can not go; it would be too ridiculous giving way
to any such childish feeling. You will stay as long as I stay."

"But I can not. I _must_ go."

"And who holds the authority, pray?"

"Dear grandaunt, do not compel me," said Anne, seizing the old woman's
hands in hers