ust such advantages as yours does--near enough to
the coast for yachting, and far enough from cities to be out of social
chains, except the golden one of friendship," she added, letting her
eyes rest graciously on her listeners. "Well, can you surmise the
result of that order?"

Each looked at the other in wonder; her smile told half the truth.

"I am afraid to put my surmise in words," confessed Mrs. McVeigh, "for
fear of disappointment."

"I'm not!" and Evilena flourished her napkin to emphasize her delight,
"its Loringwood! Oh, oh, Madame Caron, you've bought Loringwood!"

Margeret was entering the room with a small tray containing something
for Mr. Loring, whose meals she prepared personally. Delaven, who was
facing her, saw her grow ashen, and her eyes closed as though struck a
physical blow; a glass from the tray shivered on the floor, as he
sprang up and saved her from falling.

"What ails you, Margeret?" asked Gertrude, with the ring of the silver
sounding through her tones. "There--she is all right again, Dr.
Delaven. Don't come into the dining room in future unless you feel
quite well. Uncle can't endure crashes, or nervous people, about
him."

"I know; I beg pardon, Miss Gertrude, Mistress McVeigh," and
Margeret's manner was above reproach in its respectful humility,
though Delaven observed that the firm lips were white; "the kitchen
was very warm. I--I was faint for a minute."

"Never mind about the glass, Caroline will pick it up," said Mrs.
McVeigh, kindly; "you go lay down awhile, it is very warm in the
kitchen. Dilsey always will have a tremendous fire, even to fry an egg
on; go along now--go rest where it's cool."

Margeret bent her head in mute acknowledgment of the kindness, and
passed out of the room. Mr. Loring had pushed his plate away with an
impatient frown, signifying that breakfast was over for him, any way.

Delaven, noticing his silence and the grim expression on his face,
wondered if he, too, was doubtful of that excuse uttered by the woman.
The kitchen, no doubt, was warm, but he had seen her face as she heard
Evilena's delighted exclamation; it was the certainty that Loringwood
was actually sold--Loringwood, and that grave under the pines?
Possibly she had fostered hope that it might not be yet--not for a
long time, and the suddenness of it had been like a physical shock to
the frail, devoted woman. He had reasoned it out like that, and his
warm, Irish heart ached for her as she