but it was so much more important that Mrs.
Kenton was giving it her attention first, quite out of the order of
time. Besides, she had every reason, as she felt, to count upon the
event. Unless he was trifling with Ellen, far more wickedly than
Bittridge, he was in love with her, and in Mrs. Kenton's simple
experience and philosophy of life, being in love was briefly preliminary
to marrying. If she went with her anxieties to her husband, she had
first to reduce him from a buoyant optimism concerning the affair before
she could get him to listen seriously. When this was accomplished he
fell into such despair that she ended in lifting him up and supporting
him with hopes that she did not feel herself. What they were both united
in was the conviction that nothing so good could happen in the world,
but they were equally united in the old American tradition that they
must not lift a finger to secure this supreme good for their child.

It did not seem to them that leaving the young people constantly to
themselves was doing this. They interfered with Ellen now neither more
nor less than they had interfered with her as to Bittridge, or than
they would have interfered with her in the case of any one else. She was
still to be left entirely to herself in such matters, and Mrs. Kenton
would have kept even her thoughts off her if she could. She would have
been very glad to give her mind wholly to the study of the great events
which had long interested her here in their scene, but she felt that
until the conquest of Mr. Breckon was secured beyond the hazard of
Ellen's morbid defection at the supreme moment, she could not give her
mind to the history of the Dutch republic.

"Don't bother me about Lottie, Boyne," she said. "I have enough to think
of without your nonsense. If this Mr. Trannel is an American, that
is all that is necessary. We are all Americans together, and I don't
believe it will make remark, Lottie's sitting on the beach with him."

"I don't see how he's different from that Bittridge," said Boyne. "He
doesn't care for anything; and he plays the banjo just like him."

Mrs. Kenton was too troubled to laugh. She said, with finality, "Lottie
can take care of herself," and then she asked, "Boyne, do you know whom
Ellen's letters were from?"

"One was from Bessie Pearl--"

"Yes, she showed me that. But you don't know who the other was from?"

"No; she didn't tell me. You know how close Ellen is."

"Yes," the mother