dy done so."

Far from obeying, Edna dismissed their escort the instant Sylvia had
disappeared.

"This will give me a chance to have my talk with her before dinner,"
she said; "and afterward she can talk with you."

"Very well," returned the judge; "but don't get flighty, Edna.
Remember, I'm not a millionaire."

Sylvia's face, when she emerged from the house to find her friend
waiting alone, was expressive; and Edna answered quite as if she had
spoken.

"Yes, I sent him away. I had to see you alone. Please forgive me for
yesterday, and give me ten minutes--no, five; I believe you'll ask for
the next five yourself."

It was Edna's old winning smile that again beamed upon her perplexed
friend. The vague change and coolness had disappeared. "Choose a place
where no one will disturb us," she added.

In silence Sylvia walked to the AEolian pine tree, and they seated
themselves on the rustic seat.

"How amazed you must have been at my severity yesterday," began Edna,
"when you could not have had the vaguest idea at what I was hinting."

Sylvia still kept silence. She was astonished by the light-hearted,
almost humorous note in her companion's voice.

"_You_ must have had an idea, I suppose," she returned noncommittally.

To her further surprise Edna actually laughed. "Yes, I had an idea, but
I'm mortally ashamed of it to-day. Could you be so magnanimous, Sylvia,
as not to ask me what it was?"

The girl kept silence for a moment. Surely if her offense had concerned
John Dunham, nothing could have occurred since yesterday to alter
facts--but stay! and not all the sun kisses that had warmed Sylvia's
face could conceal that she grew suddenly pale. If Edna and John had
come to a mutual discovery since yesterday, that would explain the
happy excitement which seemed to have engulfed all other feeling for
Edna.

"You will have to explain a little," she said, and her self-control
made her voice cold.

"Oh, it's too absurd, Sylvia--honestly. Sometime when we're quite old
ladies I'll tell you,--that is, if you'll forgive me without my
confessing now. Of course if you won't,"--Edna's eyes besought her
friend merrily,--"I shall have to; but really I want to beg off."

"You have something important to tell me," said Sylvia, "something
besides that."

"Two things. I didn't sleep at all last night for two reasons: one was
for happiness, the other for regret that I had hurt you."

It was, then, as Sylvia had surmised. W