sage, a letter, and because the time while waiting seemed
long, she neglected to note that the actual time elapsed was not more
than Gerald had sometimes allowed to pass without her attributing his
silence to offence. He had his work, he had other friends; Abbe Johns
might be in town again visiting him. This silence, however, had a
different value, she thought, from other silences. They had seemed so
much better friends after their confidences that long evening over the
fire; she expected more of him than she had done before it.

At other moments she was disposed to find fault with herself. She
supposed she was a big coarse thing, unable to appreciate the feelings
of a man who apparently hadn't as many thicknesses of skin as other
folks.

It was at such a moment, when she made allowances for him, that she
thought of writing, making it easy for him to drop his grouch and
return. But here Aurora felt a difficulty. Aurora thought well, in a
general way, of her powers as a letter-writer, and she was proud of her
beautifully legible Spencerian hand; but for such a letter as she wished
to send Gerald fine shades of expression were needed beyond what she
could compass. She was fond of Gerald; in this letter she must not be
too fond, yet she must be fond enough. What hope that a blockhead would
strike the exact middle of so fine a line?

She could obviate the difficulty by sending him a formal invitation to
dinner. But suppose she should receive formal regrets?

After that the whole thing must be left to him; the tactful letter meant
to hurry him back would no longer be possible.

"Oh, bother!" said Aurora, and formed a better, bolder plan.

Aurora had not seen the plays, had not read the books, where the going
of the heroine to visit the hero at his house for whatever good reason
under the sun has such damaging results for her fair fame. Aurora was
innocent of good society's hopeless narrowness on the subject. If she
made a secret of her plan to Estelle it was merely because Estelle had
permitted herself wise words one day, warnings, with regard to Gerald,
in whom she specifically did not wish her friend to "become interested."

"You're too different," Estelle had said. "You're like a fish and a
bird. I won't say I don't like him. He's nice in a way, but it's not our
way, Nell. You'd be miserable with him, first or last."

"My dear," Aurora had replied, "if you knew the sort of thing we talk
about when you're not there