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 maintenance of a certain tone, that in divergences of view between well and dubiously bred people, the moral advantage seemed always to lie with the former. It was a trick she had yet to learn.

There was a sort of finality in the nature of this breach that made it unlike any other in their relationship. This was a conclusion she admitted after days of desperate clinging to the illusion that nothing was amiss. Meanwhile Keble waited; and she sank deeper into silence.

In the midst of her self-analysis a letter arrived for Keble from the friend of the early spring. Walter Windrom had spent the intervening months in England, but was returning to his post in Washington.

The renewal of this link with the outer world had a stimulating effect upon Louise. It suggested a plan which ran through her veins like a tonic.

That night, through a blur of tears, she wrote the following letter, while her husband lay uneasily asleep.

"Hillside, September 16.

"Dear Walter: Before leaving the ranch you offered to do something for me. You may if you will. I've been miserable for months at the thought of what a very back-woods creature I am. I can never be what I would like to be; therefore I've decided to be what I can be, so hard that I shall be even with Fate. I can't go away, but I can afford a tutor with my very own money. So will you please im-