easons for being superlatively
happy. What, then, was the lack in her?--or was this some lack in the
terms of life itself? Was it the mysterious law of the world that
nobody, no matter what she had or did, should ever long keep the jewel
happiness unspotted by a doubt?

XVII

Cally crosses the Great Gulf; and it isn't quite Clear how
she will ever cross back again.

Baffling questions these, even to young philosophers. Dismissing them as
foolish, Cally Heth turned from the rain-swept window, designing to rest
awhile in her own room, before dressing for a little dinner at Evey
McVey's. Forsaken as she felt, she was yet not unconscious of a certain
remote desirability in being alone; that is, in having a little time to
herself now. It occurred to her that perhaps she and Hugo had been
together rather too constantly in these weeks, going forward just a
little too fast....

In the hall she encountered her mother, descending the stairs in
mackintosh, hat, and veil. Carlisle looked surprised, but mamma's look
under the veil was roguishly dolorous, in reference to the
recent farewell.

"Why, mamma, where are you going in all the rain?"

Mrs. Heth replied: "What, no tears!... I'm off to the old Dabney House,
my dear--the first time in twenty years--"

"Oh!... The Settlement!"

"I promised Mr. Dayne I would go," said the capable little lady, eyeing
her daughter expectantly--"it's the organization meeting and election of
officers. The man has got together some excellent people for his
committee. And, by the way, Cally--"

"But they haven't raised all the money already!"

At this Mrs. Heth looked still more knowing. "Confess, Cally--didn't
Hugo do it? Didn't he make another big subscription after his thousand?"

Cally, arrested at the foot of the steps, stared at her mother.
"Why--not that I know of. What do you mean?"

Now her mother looked somewhat disappointed, but said, snapping a glove
button: "It would be like him to do it, and say not a word to anybody.
Why, there's a foolish story Mrs. Wayne told me this morning that the
whole thing had fallen through, when Mrs. Berkeley Page came forward
anonymously with a gift of twenty-five thousand--simply buying the
building outright, in fact. I don't, of course, believe a word of it.
She's exactly the kind to let her right hand know what her left was
doing. Still, I did think perhaps Hugo might possibly have done
something of the sort. He was so