nd Keith thought she
had never looked sweeter.

He had never had a confidante,--at least, since he was a college
boy,--and a little of the old feeling came to him. He lingered a little;
but just then Mrs. Nailor came out of the door near him. For a moment
Keith could almost have fancied he was back on the verandah at Gates's.
Her mousing around had turned back the dial a dozen years.

Just what brought it about, perhaps, no one of the participants in the
little drama could have told; but from this time the relations between
the two ladies whom Keith left at the hotel that Summer night somehow
changed. Not outwardly, for they still sat and talked together; but they
were both conscious of a difference. They rather fenced with each other
after that. Mrs. Nailor set it down to a simple cause. Mrs. Lancaster
was in love with Gordon Keith, and he had not addressed her. Of this she
was satisfied. Yet she was a little mystified. Mrs. Lancaster hardly
defined the reason to herself. She simply shut up on the side toward
Mrs. Nailor, and barred her out. A strange thing was that she and Miss
Huntington became great friends. They took to riding together, walking
together, and seeing a great deal of each other, the elder lady spending
much of her time up at Miss Huntington's home, among the shrubbery and
flowers of the old place. It was a mystification to Mrs. Nailor, who
frankly confessed that she could only account for it on the ground that
Mrs. Lancaster wanted to find out how far matters had gone between Keith
and Miss Huntington. "That girl is a sly minx," she said. "These
governesses learn to be deceptive. I would not have her in my house."

If there was a more dissatisfied mortal in the world than Gordon Keith
that Autumn Keith did not know him. He worked hard, but it did not ease
his mind. He tried retiring to his old home, as he had done in the
Summer; but it was even worse than it had been then. Rumor came to him
that Lois Huntington was engaged. It came through Mrs. Nailor, and he
could not verify it; but, at least, she was lost to him. He cursed
himself for a fool.

The picture of Mrs. Lancaster began to come to him oftener and oftener
as she had appeared to him that night on the verandah--handsome,
dignified, serene, sympathetic. Why should he not seek release by this
way? He had always admired, liked her. He felt her sympathy; he
recognized her charm; he appreciated her--yes, her advantage. Curse it!
that was the tr