conviction that this sister's life meant more than
anything else in the world to her. That she could bear the loss of
everything rather than that, and when she too would not be able to
avoid the sense of responsibility for it. If she had not been so
headlong and absurdly impetuous years ago, Evelyn might easily have
been happy and lived.

When they reached home, Aunt Maria, who had come on an earlier car,
was already in her bedroom and the front-door was fastened and the
sitting-room windows were dark. Maria knocked on the door, and
presently she heard footsteps, then Aunt Maria's voice, asking, with
an assumption of masculine harshness, who were there.

"It is only I and Evelyn," replied Maria.

Then the door was opened, and Aunt Maria, in her ruffled night-gown
and cap, holding a streaming lamp, stood back hastily lest somebody
see her. "Come in and shut the door quick, for goodness sake!" said
she. "I am all undressed."

Maria and Evelyn went in, and Maria closed and locked the door.

"What have you come home for?" asked Aunt Maria. "Why didn't you go
to the reception, and stay at Miss Thomas's, the way you said you
were going to, I'd like to know?"

"Evelyn didn't feel very well, and I thought we'd better come home,"
replied Maria, with a little note of evasion in her voice.

Aunt Maria turned and looked sharply at Evelyn, who was leaning
against the wall. She was faint again, and she looked, in her white
dress with her slender curves, like a bas-relief. "What on earth is
the matter with her?" asked Aunt Maria in her angry voice, which was
still full of the most loving concern. She caught hold of Evelyn's
slight arm. "You are all tired out, just as I expected," she said. "I
call the whole thing pure tomfoolery. If girls want to get educated,
let them, but when it comes to making such a parade when they are all
worn out with education there is no sense in it. Maria, you get her
up-stairs to bed."

Evelyn was too exhausted to make any resistance. She allowed Maria to
assist her up-stairs and undress her. When her sister bent over her
to kiss her good-night, she said, soothingly, "There now, darling; go
to sleep. You will feel better now school is done and you will have a
chance to rest."

But Evelyn responded with the weakest and most hopeless little sob.

"Don't cry, precious," said Maria.

"Won't you tell if I tell you something?" said Evelyn, raising
herself on one slender arm.

"No, dear."

"Wel