So much she felt she had a right to do, and no conventional hesitation as to her course stood in her way.  Her love had become the governing impulse of her life, and its dictates were imperative until they trenched upon her sensitive, womanly pride.  Then they were met as the rock meets the tide.  She did not care what the world might think:  it should never have occasion to think at all.  Her secret was between herself and God.  Graydon himself should never know it unless his name became hers.

How vividly her old haunts recalled him!  There was the lounge on which he used to toss the “little wraith” after having carried her around in the semblance of a waltz.  The sofa on which had taken place their strange parting still stood as of old in her room.  There her head had sunk in unconsciousness upon his breast, the result of her vain, feeble struggle to escape from caresses so natural to him, but no longer to be received by her.

What way-marks in life mute, commonplace things become in the light of memory!  To her vivid fancy Graydon was again present in all the positions now made memorable by deep affection.  The past unrolled itself again as it had so often done before.  She saw the pallid, frightened child that scarcely dared to look deprecatingly at the handsome young collegian.  She saw again the kind yet mirthful eyes that beamed encouragingly upon her.  She remembered that in the unworthy past they had ever looked upon her with a large, gentle, affectionate tolerance, and she now took chiefly upon herself the blame for those years of weakness.  Her present radiant health and beauty proved how unnecessary they had been, and her heart sometimes sunk at the thought of what they might cost her.

Mary had accompanied her to her room, and was asked, in a careless tone, what had become of Miss Wildmere.

“I was told incidentally the other day that she was as great a belle as ever.  I had hoped that she would be out of Graydon’s way before this time.  I have heard, however, that great belles are often slower in marrying than the homeliest girls.  If all is true that is said, this Miss Wildmere has made mischief enough; but I am not anxious that our Graydon should cut short her career—­that is, if marriage would cut it short.  I imagine she will always be a gay society woman.  Well, Madge, I suppose you must make up your mind to be a belle yourself.  Why don’t you cut out this ‘speculator,’ as my husband calls her?  If Graydon had my eyes it wouldn’t be a difficult task.”

“Graydon hasn’t your eyes or mine either,” was the brusque reply.  “I propose to use my own.  They may see some one that I have never met.  One thing at least is certain—­I don’t intend to cut out Miss Wildmere or any one else.  The man who wins me will have to do the seeking most emphatically; and I warn you beforehand, sister mine, that you must never let the idea of matchmaking enter your head.  Since I have been away I have