ght--very
often. I'm more pessimistic than Rodney--that I must say. But still I
think things have a way of coming right when we least expect it. I tell
dear Olivia that Peter will send a line just when we're not looking for
it. It's the watched pot that never boils, you know, and so I tell her
to stop watching for the postman. That's fatal to getting a
letter--watching for the postman. How snug you two look here together!
Well, I'll run up and take off my things. No; no more tea, dear. I won't
say good-by, Colonel Ashley, because you'll be here when I come down."

Mrs. Temple was a good woman who would have been astonished to hear
herself accused of falsehood but, as a matter of fact, her account of
the conversation with Olivia bore little relation to the conversation
itself. What she had actually said was:

"Poor Peter! I suppose he doesn't write because he's trying to forget."

The challenge here being so direct, Olivia felt it her duty to take it
up. The ladies were engaged in sorting the linen in preparation for the
sale.

"Forget what?"

"Forget Drusilla, I suppose. Hasn't it struck you--how much he was in
love with her?"

Olivia held a table-cloth carefully to the light. "Is this Irish linen
or German? I know mamma did get some at Dresden--"

Mrs. Temple pointed out the characteristic of the Belfast weave and
pressed her question. "Haven't you noticed it--about Peter?"

Olivia tried to keep her voice steady as she said: "I've no doubt I
should have seen it if I hadn't been so preoccupied."

"Some people think--Rodney, for instance--that he'd lost his head about
you, dear; but we mothers have an insight--"

"Of course! There seems to be one missing from the dozen of this
pattern."

"Oh, it'll turn up. It's probably in the pile over there. I thought I'd
speak about it, dear," she went on, "because it must be a relief to you
not to have that complication. Things are so complicated already, don't
you think? But if you haven't Peter on your mind, why, that's one thing
the less to worry about. If you thought he was in love with you,
dear--in your situation--going to be married to some one else--But you
needn't be afraid of that at all. I never saw a young man more in love
with any one than he is with Drusilla--and I think she must have refused
him. If she hadn't he would never have shot off in that way, like a bolt
from the blue--But what's the matter, dear? You look white. You're not
ill?"

"It's the sm