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 stay another hour in the town with that awful man…. I came away—without saying—good-by….”

She buried her face in the cushions of the sofa and sobbed—sobbed. It was the first time, since leaving Rainbow, that she had given way to her grief.

Presently great-aunt Margaret, after puckering her brows and drumming on her chair-arm with ever-present thimble, said abruptly:

“You’re a fool…. You’re unstrung, and no woman in love has sense anyhow…. I’ll keep you in Paris a while and—and then maybe I’ll tinker with things…. I’ll see what’s best to be done.”

The old lady did not allude to the matter again for weeks, nor did Lydia. However great-aunt Margaret wrote a long letter to Craig Browning and had, in due course, a reply, giving her a faithful history of Angus Burke, together with such summing up of his character as might have been expected from a friend who loved and admired. She read it carefully, not once but several times—and concealed the fact of its receipt from Lydia…. She was considering what was best to be done; how to act herself; how to advise Lydia. Great-aunt Margaret’s mental processes were deliberate, and a certain problem was involved, a certain course of action