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And there I sat in my front room, being embraced in a perfume of everybody's lilacs and hawthorns and affectionate interest and moonlight, with a letter in my hand from the man whose two photographs and letters I used to keep locked up in my desk. Is it any wonder I tingled when he told me that he had never come back because he couldn't have me, and that now the minute he landed in England he was going to lay his heart at my feet? I added his colonial honours to his prostrate heart myself, and my own beat at the prospect. All the eight years faded away, and I was again back in the old garden down at Aunt Adeline's cottage saying good-bye, folded up in his arms. That's the way my memory put the scene to me, but the word "folded" made me remember that blue muslin dress again. I had promised to keep it and wear it for him when he came back—and I couldn't forget that the blue belt was just twenty-three inches and mine is—no, I won't write it. I had got that dress out of the old trunk not ten minutes after I had read the letter and measured it. Judith nodded emphatically. "Mrs. Leighton told Miss Hillis over the phone, and she told the class, as 'an example of sisterly devotion,' she called it. I felt like telling her what I knew." The wind, driving furiously from the west, flung the clouds before it—great sullen masses of flying gray vapor that now broke into drenching torrents, shaking the barn and tearing at the casements. In a moment the place was dark with its roar and the rumble of coming fury undertoned the shrill screams of the greedy tempest wind..

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"Oh," cried Jen, recalling Dido's denial, "she knows of that, does she?" "Molly," he said, standing off and looking at me with shining eyes, "you are one lovely dream. Your cheeks are peaches under cream, your eyes are blue forget-me-nots, and your mouth a red blossom. Come on before I lose my head looking at you." I didn't know whether I liked that or not, and turned down the light quickly myself and went to the gate hurriedly. Tom laughed and behaved himself. "That was a lovely song you sang about 'Molly darling,' Billy," I said. "Where did you hear it?" "Don't you think it is very—very lonely to be a widow, Mrs. Johnson?" I asked timidly to see what she would say about Mr. Johnson, who is really a kind-hearted sort of man, I think. He gives me the gentlest understanding smile when he meets me in the street of late weeks..