Elnora gave it gladly, and the emerald slipped on her finger.  Then they went together into the forest to tell each other all about it, and talk it over.

“Have you seen Edith?” asked Philip.

“No,” answered Elnora.  “But she must be here, or she may have seen me when we went to Petoskey a few days ago.  Her people have a cottage over on the bluff, but the Angel never told me until to-day.  I didn’t want to make that trip, but the folks were so anxious to entertain me, and it was only a few days until I intended to let you know myself where I was.”

“And I was going to wait just that long, and if I didn’t hear then I was getting ready to turn over the country.  I can scarcely realize yet that Edith sent me that telegram.”

“No wonder!  It’s a difficult thing to believe.  I can’t express how I feel for her.”

“Let us never speak of it again,” said Philip.  “I came nearer feeling sorry for her last night than I have yet.  I couldn’t sleep on that boat coming over, and I couldn’t put away the thought of what sending that message cost her.  I never would have believed it possible that she would do it.  But it is done.  We will forget it.”

“I scarcely think I shall,” said Elnora.  “It is something I like to remember.  How suffering must have changed her!  I would give anything to bring her peace.”

“Henderson came to see me at the hospital a few days ago.  He’s gone a rather wild pace, but if he had been held from youth by the love of a good woman he might have lived differently.  There are things about him one cannot help admiring.”

“I think he loves her,” said Elnora softly.

“He does!  He always has!  He never made any secret of it.  He will cut in now and do his level best, but he told me that he thought she would send him away.  He understands her thoroughly.”

Edith Carr did not understand herself.  She went to her room after her good-bye to Henderson, lay on her bed and tried to think why she was suffering as she was.

“It is all my selfishness, my unrestrained temper, my pride in my looks, my ambition to be first,” she said.  “That is what has caused this trouble.”

Then she went deeper.

“How does it happen that I am so selfish, that I never controlled my temper, that I thought beauty and social position the vital things of life?” she muttered.  “I think that goes a little past me.  I think a mother who allows a child to grow up as I did, who educates it only for the frivolities of life, has a share in that child’s ending.  I think my mother has some responsibility in this,” Edith Carr whispered to the night.  “But she will recognize none.  She would laugh at me if I tried to tell her what I have suffered and the bitter, bitter lesson I have learned.  No one really cares, but Hart.  I’ve sent him away, so there is no one!  No one!”

Edith pressed her fingers across her burning eyes and lay still.