aid.

"_Four_ ends!" she said; "oh, is it as bad as that? He has to
support--somebody?"

He said, "Yes; so long as you have guessed. Mary, I really must have a
smoke."

"Why _am_ I so weak-minded as to give in to you!" she sighed; then
handed him the cigar box, and scratched a match for him; he held her
wrist--the sputtering match in her fingers--lighted the cigar, blew out
the match, and kissed her hand.

"You are a snooper and a porcupine about tobacco; but otherwise quite a
nice woman," he said.

CHAPTER XX

When Edith's Easter vacation was over, and she went back to Mercer, she
was followed by a letter from Mrs. Houghton to Eleanor, explaining the
plan for the school dormitory the following winter. But there was
another letter, to Maurice, addressed (discreetly) to his office. It was
from Henry Houghton, and it was to the effect that if any "unexpected
expenses" came along, and Maurice felt strapped because of the cessation
of Edith's board, he must let Mr. Houghton know; then a suggestion as to
realizing on certain securities.

"That's considerate in him," Eleanor said; "but I don't know what
'unexpected expenses' we could have?"

It was a chilly April day. Maurice happened to be laid up home with a
sore throat; Eleanor, searching for a cook, had stopped at his office
for a lease he wanted to see, and brought back with her some mail she
found on his desk.

"I knew this letter was from Mr. Houghton, so I opened it," she said, as
she handed it to him. His instant and very sharp annoyance surprised
her. "I wouldn't open your _business_ letters," she defended herself;
"but I didn't suppose you'd mind my seeing anything the Houghtons might
write--"

"I don't like to have any of my mail opened!" he said, briefly, his eyes
raking Henry Houghton's letter, and discovering (of course!) nothing in
the fine, precise handwriting which was in the least betraying. ("But
suppose he _had_ said what the 'unexpected expenses' might be!")

"We shall miss Edith's board," Eleanor said; "but, oh, I'll be so glad
to have her go!"

Maurice was silent. "If she lives in Medfield all the time, she'll be
sure and run into Lily," he thought. "The devil's in it." He was in his
bedroom, wrapped up in a blanket, shivering and hot and headachy. The
chance of Edith's "running into Lily" would, of course, be even less if
she were at Fern Hill, than it was now when she was going back and forth
in the trolley every day; but he