killing herself. She's breaking her heart. Nobody knows it but
him and her--and even he doesn't take it in. But she is."

"I suppose she thinks I'm something awful."

"Does it matter to you what she thinks?"

"I don't want her to hate me."

"Oh, I shouldn't say she did that. She feels that, considering
everything, you might have acted with more decision."

"But he won't let me."

"And he never will, if you wait for that."

"Then what do you think I ought to do?"

"That's where I find you weak, Letty, since you ask me the question.
No one can tell you what to do--and he least of all. It's a situation
in which one of you must withdraw--either you or the other girl. But,
don't you see? he can't say so to either."

"And if one of us must withdraw you think it should be me."

"I have to leave that to you. You're the one who butted in. I know it
wasn't your fault--that the fault was his entirely; but we recognize
the fact that he's--how shall I put it?--not quite responsible. We
women have to take the burden of the thing on ourselves, if it's ever
to be put right."

In her corner of the car Letty thought this over. The impression on
her mind was the deeper since, for several months past, she had
watched the prince growing more and more unhappy. He was less nervous
than he used to be, less excitable; and for that he had told her the
credit was due to herself. "You soothe me," he had once said to her,
in words she would always treasure; and yet as his irritability
decreased his unhappiness seemed to grow. She could only infer that he
was mourning over the girl to whom he was engaged, and on whom he had
inflicted a great wrong. For the last few weeks Letty's mind had
occupied itself with her almost more than with the prince himself.

"Do you think I shall ever see her?" she asked, suddenly now.

Barbara reflected. "I think you could if you wanted to."

"Should you arrange it?"

"I could."

"You're sure she'd be willing to see me?"

"Yes; I know she would."

"When could you do it?"

"Whenever you like."

"Soon?"

"Yes; sooner perhaps than--" Barbara spoke absently, as if a new idea
was taking possession of her mind--"sooner perhaps than you think."

"And you say she's breaking her heart?"

"A little more, and it will be broken."

By the time Letty had been set down at the door in East Sixty-seventh
Street the afternoon had grown chilly. In the back drawing-room
Steptoe was on his knees lighting the