ons
and the teasing that is the lot of girls as lovely as Nanny.

He helped her to laugh when she felt like crying. And best of all he
steadied her when Cynthia's son was by, when her heart was beating
horribly and her head was dizzy with happiness and fright.

She was a new girl to the boy from India. He was no longer afraid of
her. She no longer said bright, sharp things that puzzled and hurt
him. She was quiet and kind and frequently now exceedingly ill at ease.

One day while they were walking along the road he stopped suddenly and
looked at her.

"Are you tired?" he asked abruptly.

"No--I'm not tired," Nanny said a little surprised at the question.

"Are you ill?" he next wanted to know.

"Ill? Why--no. Not that I know of."

He searched her eyes for the truth. Nanny, not daring to trust
herself, turned away her head with an unsteady little laugh.

"Why?"

"Because," the puzzled boy explained, "you have been so quiet and so
nice and kind to me."

The laughable innocence of him was all that saved Nanny that time.

She thought of going away. But she lacked the courage. The thought of
going made the pain worse and there was no place in all the world to
which she cared to go.

Then a brilliant idea came to her. It might after all, she told
herself, be purely imaginary,--this strange torture that she thought
was love. It might after all be only a foolish fancy born of her quiet
isolated life in the dreamy old town. She would fill the house with
people, with men and women and music.

So for a time the Ainslees were very gay. House party followed house
party and there were always guests. Secure with the security of
numbers Nanny invited Cynthia's son. Then she stood back and watched
him draw both men and women about him. He was utterly at ease with the
men but quiet and reserved with the girls. Instinctively he sorted out
the comfortable, less brilliant ones and chatted with them, all
unconscious of the light in the eyes of the others. Nanny watched him
and as she watched there was born in her heart a new fear and torture.
She realized that some day love would come to Cynthia's son and feared
that she would have to stand by unseen and forgotten.

So then she began to distrust those of her feminine guests who smiled
at him and chatted with him. And as soon as she decently could she
sent all her company packing. When they were gone she knew beyond any
possibility of doubt that she love