Gerty, with the unshakable courage of her
impressions.

Turning away from her friend, Laura went over to the desk as if drawn in
spite of her resolution, by the large sealed envelope lying on the white
blotter. The handwriting of the address, with its bold, free flourish at
the end, appeared to fascinate her eyes, for after looking at it
attentively a moment, she took it up and brought it over to the hearth
where Gerty stood.

"Yes, she is wonderfully handsome," she repeated; and her tone was so
indifferent that it came with a shock of surprise to Gerty, when she
bent over and laid the letter upon the burning logs. Dropping on her
knees, she watched the paper catch fire, redden in the flame, turn to
ashes, and at last dissolve in smoke. Then she leaned forward and pushed
the logs together, as if she wished to destroy some last vestige of the
words which were still visible to her eyes.

"Laura!" called Gerty sharply. She had made a step forward, but as Laura
rose from her knees and faced her, she fell back into her former
attitude.

"If you want to tell him," said Laura coldly, "you may do it when he
comes. I shan't mind it in the least."

"Tell him!" cried Gerty, and her voice shook with a tremor she could not
control, "but, oh! Laura, what made you do it?"

She knew that she wanted to go away by herself and weep; but she could
not tell at the moment whether it was for Laura or for her own
disappointment that she was more concerned. Her whole outlook on life
was altered by the thing which Laura had done; she felt that she no
longer believed in anybody and that it was impossible for her to go on
living as she had lived until to-day.

"I don't know," replied Laura, with a curiosity so vague that it sounded
almost impersonal, "I don't know why I did it." As she uttered the words
the question seemed to absorb her thoughts; then, before Gerty caught
the sound of Kemper's approaching footsteps, she knew that he must be
coming by the abruptness of the change with which Laura spoke.

"I wonder why it is that men never appreciate the necessity for tea!"
she exclaimed, and laughing she went quickly toward the door. "I don't
believe you'd have cared if you'd found us starving on your threshold,"
she wound up with reproachful gayety.

"Oh, I hoped you'd ordered it," said Kemper, "upon my word I'm sorry--I
fear you must have had a stupid wait."

He entered with his breathless, though smiling, apology, touched the
bell