asthma?"

"Asthma? Her daughter? Whom are you talking about?"

"Mrs. Bentley. Isn't Mrs. Bentley--"

"No!" shouted the doctor, in disgust, "Mrs. Bentley is as well as ever.
It's Miss Bentley. I wish there was a thousandth part of the chance for
her that there is for her mother."

XIV.

I stayed over for the last train to Boston, and then I had to go home
without the hope which Miss Bentley's first rally had given the doctor.
My wife and I talked the affair over far into the night, and in the
paucity of particulars I was almost driven to their invention. But I
managed to keep a good conscience, and at the same time to satisfy the
demand for facts in a measure by the indulgence of conjectures which
Mrs. March continually took for them. The doctor had let fall, in his
talk with me, that he had no doubt Miss Bentley had aggravated the
affection of the heart from which she was suffering by her exertions in
lifting her mother about so much; and my wife said that it needed only
that touch to make the tragedy complete.

"Unless," I suggested, "you could add that her mother had just told her
she would not oppose her marriage any longer, and it was the joy that
brought on the access of the trouble that is killing her."

"Did the doctor say that?" Mrs. March demanded, severely.

"No. And I haven't the least notion that anything like it happened. But
if it had--"

"It would have been too tawdry. I'm ashamed of you for thinking of such
a thing, Basil."

Upon reflection, I was rather ashamed myself; but I plucked up courage
to venture: "It would be rather fine, wouldn't it, when that poor girl
is gone, if Mrs. Bentley had Glendenning come and live with her, and
they devoted themselves to each other for her daughter's sake?"

"Fine! It would be ghastly. What are you thinking of, my dear? How would
it be fine?"

"Oh, I mean dramatically," I apologized, and, not to make bad worse, I
said no more.

The next day, which was Sunday, a telegram came for me, which I decided,
without opening it, to be the announcement of the end. But it proved to
be a message from Mrs. Bentley, begging in most urgent terms that Mrs.
March and I would come to her at once, if possible. These terms left the
widest latitude for surmise, but none for choice, in the sad
circumstances, and we looked up the Sunday trains for Gormanville, and
went.

We found the poor woman piteously grateful, but by no means so
prostrated as we had expected. She w