Lindley answered. "I think
she's had some great anxieties relieved. Of course both she and
her mother must have worried about Cora as much as they waited on
her. It must be a great burden lifted to have her comfortably
settled, or, at least, disposed of. I thought they both looked
better. But I have a special theory about Laura: I suppose you'll
laugh at me----"

"Oh, no."

"I wish you would sometimes," she said wistfully, "so only you
laughed. My idea is that Laura was in love with that poor little
Trumble, too."

"What?" He looked up at that.

"Yes; girls fall in love with anybody. I fancy she cared very
deeply for him; but I think she's a strong, sane woman, now. She's
about the steadiest, coolest person I know--and I know her better,
lately, than I used to. I think she made up her mind that she'd
not sit down and mope over her unhappiness, and that she'd get
over what caused it; and she took the very best remedy: she began
going about, going everywhere, and she went gayly, too! And I'm
sure she's cured; I'm sure she doesn't care the snap of her
fingers for Wade Trumble or any man alive. She's having a pretty
good time, I imagine: she has everything in the world except
money, and she's never cared at all about _that_. She's young, and
she dresses well--these days--and she's one of the handsomest
girls in town; she plays like a poet, and she dances well----"

"Yes," said Richard;--reflectively, "she does dance well."

"And from what I hear from Mrs. Villard," continued his mother, "I
guess she has enough young men in love with her to keep any girl
busy."

He was interested enough to show some surprise. "In love with
Laura?"

"Four, I hear." The best of women are sometimes the readiest with
impromptu statistics.

"Well, well!" he said, mildly.

"You see, Laura has taken to smiling on the world, and the world
smiles back at her. It's not a bad world about that, Richard."

"No," he sighed. "I suppose not."

"But there's more than that in this case, my dear son."

"Is there?"

The intelligent and gentle matron laughed as though at some
unexpected turn of memory and said:

"Speaking of Hedrick, did you ever hear the story of the Devil of
Lisieux, Richard?"

"I think not; at least, I don't remember it."

"Lisieux is a little town in Normandy," she said. "I was there a
few days with your father, one summer, long ago. It's a country
full of old stories, folklore, and traditions; and the people
still