ed, I knew she would laugh at me
unmercifully. I think it would have pleased me better to speak to George
than to any one else; he had always been so sympathetic and kind; but
now things were changed, and he would not care to interest himself in
the affairs of any woman except the one to whom he was engaged. It was
terrible to sit there and think that there was not a person in the
world, not even my husband, to whom I could look for sympathy and
comfort. If I had not been out in the open air, where people could have
seen me, I should have cried.

"Happening to look up, I saw some one on the piazza. It was that
horrible Margaret Temple; and when she gazed about from side to side she
saw me under the tree, and as I, apparently, took no notice of her, she
stepped down from the piazza and came walking across the lawn toward me.
If I had been a man I should have cursed my fate; not only was I
deprived of every comfort, but here came the disturber of my peace to
make me still more unhappy.

"I do not remember what she said when she reached me, but I know she
spoke very pleasantly; nor do I remember what I replied, but I am sure I
did not speak pleasantly. I was out of humor with the whole world, and
particularly with her. She brought a little chair that was near by, and
sat down by me. She was a very straightforward person about speaking,
and so she said, without any preface:

"'Have you told your husband of that arrangement you made with me if he
should survive you?'

"'Of course I have not!' I exclaimed. 'Do you think I would tell him a
thing like that, especially when I said I would not? The fact is,' I
continued,--and it was very hard for me to keep from crying as I
spoke,--'I am just loaded down with trouble, and I cannot tell anybody.'

"'I knew you were troubled,' she replied, 'and that is the reason I came
this morning. Why can't you tell me what is the matter?'

"At first this made me angry, and I felt like bouncing off to the house
and never speaking to her again; but in the next instant I changed my
mind. It would serve her right if I told her everything; and so I did.
I made her feel exactly how I had felt when I had thought of her in my
place, and how I had determined that it should never be. Then I went on
and told her all my plans about George and herself; and how Bernard was
to board with them if I died. I made the story a good deal longer than
I have made it here. Then I finished by telling her of Georg