to the possible
reasons for his sudden departure. Mrs. Munn hadn't the faintest idea.
She even wasn't sure of his destination, had forgotten whether he took
many clothes or not, and was perfectly at sea in regard to his possible
return. Her son was more explicit, if more imaginative. He bet that
the doctor had gone to see the swell young lady that came in the
threshing-mill; he was quite sure he would get drunk and show people a
few things when he came back, for he was a very wild and fierce young
man, and nobody in the place, except Mr. Munn, knew just what awful
things he could do.

Fortunately, people paid no heed to Davy, and when the doctor returned
the following day, looking his usual self, no one suspected him of
riotous conduct. Mrs. Munn kept her own counsel, of course, but she
wondered secretly what had happened to make him so quiet, and why he
did not run up the stairs three steps at a time, whistling loudly, as
he used to do.

And yet, according to his own view, there was really no reason why
Gilbert should have been less happy. Everything had turned out just as
he had wanted. First, Rosalie had forgiven him--that was just like
Rosalie, he reflected fondly--and, moreover, had promised--yes,
promised faithfully this time--that if he would come down to her New
Year's party she would that day announce their engagement. There was
another provision attached, however; he must, yes, must, come to the
city in the spring; no, not a month later. There was no use in his
thinking she would live anywhere else, because she simply would die;
and if he wanted to kill her, why, she would just marry Guy Blackburn,
and go motoring over a precipice. Surely, when he saw that she was
giving up so much for his sake, he might make a little sacrifice for
her. And Gilbert had declared, with a rush of gratitude, that he would
do anything she asked.

So there was surely no good reason for his apparent lack of spirits.
There was every prospect of his being successful in Toronto, and
Harwood, his old college chum, had assured him there would be a fine
opening in the spring. Nevertheless, Gilbert Allen was not as glad at
heart as might have been expected. For Rosalie had been right in her
judgment; he was changed. Several influences had been at work to make
a new man of him. Hitherto his life had been unconsciously selfish.
It had been all getting, and no giving. That had seemed inevitable in
his college days; but when