ith impressions. What a narrow escape she
had had. An exultant thought like a song arose in her. She had
ventured forth, had had her taste, and it had cost her nothing. The
city had not caught her even though it had reached forth strong,
prehensile fingers. She knew now what she wanted, had the strength,
the zest. And it was October and fair, and smiling.

Suddenly she ran almost headlong into Mrs. Mosby. That good lady came
precipitately out of Orpell's Drug Store, and she was wearing her
white ruching and her bangles and a trim little widow's bonnet with a
semi-circle of black veil hanging down behind and accentuating the
prim whiteness of her face.

Mrs. Mosby's was not a face to betray emotion; it was a well-behaved,
studiously composed face. And her voice was level as she took Mary
Louise by both hands.

"Well, my dear," she said. "What brings you here? I've heard you're an
awfully busy woman. Hope there's nothing wrong at home."

"No," replied Mary Louise. Somehow she could never get it out of her
head whenever she spoke to Mrs. Mosby that it was not still as a
little girl to a personage--a personage to whom restraint and
deference were due. "I'm not so busy as all that."

"Oh, but you are. I've heard all about you. We're very proud of you,
my dear. Very. You've been doing so well--oh, I've heard--and your
striking out into business quite alone was about the most courageous
thing I know of. Why, the mere thought of such a thing takes my breath
away."

"But I'm not doing it any more. And there's nothing courageous in
that," smiled Mary Louise.

Mrs. Mosby looked puzzled.

"It's a fact. I've given it all up. Just got home to-day. And I'm
going to settle down again with you all and be just folks."

The mask again slipped over Mrs. Mosby's countenance. "Quite as
courageous a thing to do as the other," she went on evenly. "Just to
give up your splendid opportunity to come back and accept your duties
here--well, I think it highly commendable." She was not to be robbed
of her chance to be agreeable. "Your aunt Susan is, I trust, not
unwell?"

"Oh, about the same, thank you, Mrs. Mosby." She wanted to ask about
Joe, something in the rapprochement giving rise to thoughts of him,
but she realized that Mrs. Mosby was doubtless entirely out of touch
with her graceless nephew and would invent some mere plausibility. So
she inquired instead after Mr. Fawcette.

"Brother is not so well. Poor soul, he suffers terri