ainty little repast that Mrs. Gray
called to Grace, "Come here, Grace, and sit by me."

Grace obeyed with alacrity, drawing her chair close to that of her old
friend.

"I thought I would ask you, my dear--what do you hear from Tom?" began
the dainty old lady with apparent innocence.

Grace felt the color mount even to her forehead.

"I haven't heard from him lately," she confessed. "I--that is--I owe him
a letter."

"I wish you would write to him. Poor boy. He is very lonely, away up
there in the woods."

Grace did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a constrained voice,
"I _will_ write to him, Mrs. Gray. I know he is lonely."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation; then came the abrupt
question, "Grace, do you love my boy?"

"No, Fairy Godmother," replied Grace in a low tone. "I'm sorry, but I
don't. That is, not in the way he wishes me to love him."

"I am sorry, too, Grace. I feel almost as though I were responsible for
his sorrow. For to him it is a deep sorrow. If I had not given Harlowe
House to Overton College, you might have found that your work lay in
being Tom's wife. He has never reproached me, but I wonder if he ever
thinks that."

"I am sure he doesn't," Grace's clear eyes met sorrowfully the kind blue
ones. "Please don't think that Harlowe House has anything to do with my
not marrying Tom. It is only because I do not love him that I am firm
in refusing him. My heart is bound up in my work. Really, dear Fairy
Godmother, I am almost sure I shall never marry. For your sake and his,
I'd rather marry Tom than any other man in the world, if I felt that
marriage was best for me. But I don't. I glory in my work and freedom
and I _couldn't_ give them up. I've wanted to say this to you for a long
time, but I didn't know just how to begin. Now that I have said it, I
hope it hasn't wounded you."

"My dear Grace," Mrs. Gray's voice was not quite steady, "I would give
much to welcome you as my niece, but not unless you love Tom with the
tenderness of a truly great love. If that love ever comes to you, I
shall indeed be happy. But my dear boy is worthy of the highest
affection. If you cannot give him that affection, then it is far better
that you two should spend your lives apart."

CHAPTER XII

MISSING--A FRIEND

Four days, spent in the society of those one loves best, pass almost
with the rapidity of lightning. Unlike most