ntense and
purposeful nature, that he was swept off his feet.

"But you will forgive me if I come back by the next ship," he said
quickly.

"No. Not if you come a day sooner than you intended."

Once more their glances met, like blows; then Georgiana moved rapidly
toward the gangway, where the sailor in charge was beckoning. The
Croftons, one and all, hurried forward, and the retreating traveler
suffered their embraces.

"My child, you are forcing us to leave you here alone to look after
yourself, after our promising to take every care of you," mourned Mrs.
Crofton. "I shall be most uneasy about you."

"No, no, dear Aunt Olivia, you mustn't be. I am a perfectly independent
person, and I can take myself home without a particle of trouble.
Good-bye--and please, please forgive me, all of you!"

She was off at last, with Jeannette's hot tears on her cheek, Rosalie's
reproachful and all but angry final speech, "I didn't think you'd
actually do it, Georgiana Warne!" ringing in her ears; and Chester's
explosive, derisive prediction following her, "By thunder, but you'll be
a sorry girl when it's too late. I can tell you that!"--to make her feel
that nobody really understood or sympathized with her.

It was Uncle Thomas who applied the one touch of balm to his niece's
sore heart:

"David Warne is a rich man, my dear girl, to have you," he said gently,
as he kissed her. "Don't feel too badly over disappointing us; it's all
right. Take good care of yourself going home, and give my love to your
father."

She smiled bravely back at him as she ran down the gangway with half a
score of belated visitors to the ship. In a moment she was only one of
the crowd of people who were watching the huge bulk of the liner draw
almost imperceptibly away from the pier. Through blurred vision she
looked up to the spot where they were all waving at her and
smiling--thank heaven, they were smiling, as it was obviously their
duty to do, no matter what their feelings.

When their faces had become indistinguishable, and the great ship had
backed far out into the waters, and was headed toward the Atlantic,
Georgiana turned to a porter at her elbow. "No," she said, "I didn't
sail. Yes, this trunk is mine; it's to go back."

Somehow, as she followed the man through the long, dingy building, the
thing which drove home the ache in her heart was the sight of the
little, aristocratic-looking, leather-covered steamer trunk, Uncle
Thomas's gift, p