ss of
self-sacrifice, of duty done, of love lost for love's sake. Mrs. Carshaw
had put the girl on what Senator Meiklejohn cynically called "the heroic
tack"; and, having gone on that tack, Winifred deeply understood that
there was a secret smile in it, and a surprising light. She lay catching
her breath till Miss Goodman brought up the tea-tray, expecting to find
the cheery Carshaw there as usual, for she had not heard him go out.

Instead, she found Winifred sobbing on the couch, for Winifred's grief
was of that depth which ceases to care if it is witnessed by others. The
good landlady came, therefore, and knelt by Winifred's side, put her arm
about her, and began to console and question her. The consolation did no
good, but the questions did. For, if one is persistently questioned, one
must answer something sooner or later, and the mind's effort to answer
breaks the thread of grief, and so the commonplace acts as a medicine to
tragedy.

In the end Winifred was obliged to sit up and go to the table where the
tea-things were. This was in itself a triumph; and her effort to secure
solitude and get rid of Miss Goodman was a further help toward throwing
off her mood of despair. By the time Miss Goodman was gone the storm was
somewhat calmed.

During that sad evening, which she spent alone, she read once more the
letter making the appointment with her at East Orange. Now, reading it a
second time, she felt a twinge of doubt. Who could it be, she wondered,
whom she would have to see there? East Orange was some way off. A
meeting of this sort usually took place in New York, at an office.

Her mind was not at all given to suspicions, but on reading over the
letter for the third time, she now noticed that the signature was not in
the handwriting of the agent. She knew his writing quite well, for he
had sent her other letters. This writing was, indeed, something like
his, but certainly not his. It might be a clerk's; the letter was typed
on his office paper.

To say that she was actually disturbed by these little rills of doubt
would not be quite true. Still, they did arise in her mind, and left her
not perfectly at ease. The touch of uneasiness, however, made her ask
herself why she should now become a singer at all. It was Carshaw who
had pressed it upon her, because she had insisted on the vital necessity
of doing something quickly, and he had not wished her to work again with
her hands. In reality, he was scheming to g