e his attentions,
Lucy Ellen; you know you couldn't marry him even if he asked you. You
promised."

All the fitful color went out of Lucy Ellen's face. Under Cecily's
pitiless eyes she wilted and drooped.

"I know," she said deprecatingly, "I haven't forgotten. You are
talking nonsense, Cecily. I like to see Cromwell, and he likes to see
me because I'm almost the only one of his old set that is left. He
feels lonesome in Oriental now."

Lucy Ellen lifted her fawn-colored little head more erectly at the
last of her protest. She had saved her self-respect.

In the month that followed Cromwell Biron pressed his suit
persistently, unintimidated by Cecily's antagonism. October drifted
into November and the chill, drear days came. To Cecily the whole
outer world seemed the dismal reflex of her pain-bitten heart. Yet she
constantly laughed at herself, too, and her laughter was real if
bitter.

One evening she came home late from a neighbor's. Cromwell Biron
passed her in the hollow under the bare boughs of the maple that were
outlined against the silvery moonlit sky.

When Cecily went into the house, Lucy Ellen opened the parlor door.
She was very pale, but her eyes burned in her face and her hands were
clasped before her.

"I wish you'd come in here for a few minutes, Cecily," she said
feverishly.

Cecily followed silently into the room.

"Cecily," she said faintly, "Cromwell was here to-night. He asked me
to marry him. I told him to come to-morrow night for his answer."

She paused and looked imploringly at Cecily. Cecily did not speak. She
stood tall and unrelenting by the table. The rigidity of her face and
figure smote Lucy Ellen like a blow. She threw out her bleached little
hands and spoke with a sudden passion utterly foreign to her.

"Cecily, I want to marry him. I--I--love him. I always have. I never
thought of this when I promised. Oh, Cecily, you'll let me off my
promise, won't you?"

"No," said Cecily. It was all she said. Lucy Ellen's hands fell to her
sides, and the light went out of her face.

"You won't?" she said hopelessly.

Cecily went out. At the door she turned.

"When John Edwards asked me to marry him six years ago, I said no for
your sake. To my mind a promise is a promise. But you were always weak
and romantic, Lucy Ellen."

Lucy Ellen made no response. She stood limply on the hearth-rug like a
faded blossom bitten by frost.

After Cromwell Biron had gone away the next evening,