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 arm and followed him out of the house after Dr. Welch and her mother. They entered an automobile behind the long car. No one spoke. The automobile started slowly to Central Park West and down across Fifty-ninth Street to the cemetery on Long Island.

Dorothy could not describe the emotions which she felt on the ride or at the grave or on the trip home. Everything was blankly solemn. She looked in a mirror and discovered that she was pale and that her eyes were red. She had been weeping, she supposed, although she was hardly aware of it.

There were letters and a heavily engrossed resolution from the Cosmopolitan Bonding Company. Dorothy was surprised to find notes addressed to her. There were three of them. First she opened one in a writing that was strange. It was a long, tactful missive from Bennie Wallace. Odd, that he should write! He was a pleasant young man whom she had known casually for two years. Yet there was something very personal about this letter. She passed it to her mother, who pronounced it very lovely. It was Bennie Wallace’s specialty.

Arnold Deering had written. It was a stilted attempt, ending with an invitation to go driving in his new car.

At times like these, a quiet ride in the country was most beneficial. It was nice of Arnold. Mrs. Loamford thought so too. He was a fine, thoughtful young man. Tommy’s note was short and awkward. He did not know what to say. He had always liked her father. He would come soon. If there was anything at all he could do-

Uncle Elliott came, bringing a recent book of travel for Dorothy. It would divert her mind. He hoped that his sister and Dorothy were sufficiently composed to hear the details of the estate. They were.