“So have you, Lu, and you don’t want to go,” Charlotte reminded her.

She did not say that nobody could bear to think of Evelyn’s departure any sooner than was absolutely necessary, for it was not possible honestly to say the same about Lucy.  But when they reached the house, and Charlotte had run up to her room to exchange her dress for a working frock, Evelyn came to her and softly closed the door.  Evelyn had persuaded herself that she ought to accompany the others.

“It isn’t as if Lucy were a different sort of girl,” she argued—­against her own wishes, for she longed to stay more than she dared to own.  “But nobody knows how she might behave—­if anybody tried to get to know her—­somebody she oughtn’t to know.  And besides, she’s afraid.  It really doesn’t matter.  I can use the extra time getting things ready for Thorne.  Please don’t urge me, Mrs. Churchill.  It won’t be a bit easier next week.”

Gentle as she was, Charlotte had learned that when Evelyn made up her mind that she ought to do a thing, it was as good as done.  So presently Evelyn, too, was packing, her smiles at the remonstrances of Charlotte and Celia very sweet, her heart very heavy.

“Well, dear, I’ve telephoned the others at ‘The Banks,’” said Charlotte, coming into Evelyn’s room, having just left Lucy in an ecstatic condition over the decision.  “You should have heard the dismay.  Jeff and Just have already started home on their wheels, to prevent your going by main force.”

This was literally true.  From Doctor Forester down to his youngest guest had come regret and remonstrance.  Finally, however, Doctor Forester, having called up Evelyn herself, and been persuaded that she was sure she was right, had fallen to planning what could be done to make the girl’s leave-taking a pleasant one for her to remember.

After a little an idea seized him.  He chuckled to himself, and fell to telephoning again.  He had Doctor Churchill on the wire, then Charlotte, Celia and his son Frederic, who had remained at the Birches’, finally the railway-station, the Pullman office, and a certain official of whom he was accustomed to ask favours and get them granted.

“Good-by, Mrs. Fields!” said Evelyn Lee, coming out upon the back porch, where the doctor’s housekeeper was resting after a busy days work.  “I shall never forget how good you’ve been to me, and I hope you won’t forget me.”

“Forget you!” ejaculated Mrs. Fields, her spare, strong hand grasping tight the slender one held out to her.  “Well, there ain’t much danger of that, nor of anybody else’s forgetting you.  I’ve been about as pleased as the doctor and Miss Charlotte to see you pick up.  You don’t look like the same girl that came here last fall.”

“I’m sure I don’t feel much like her.  Ever so much of it is certainly due to your good cooking, Mrs. Fields.”

“It’s so hard to take leave of you all,” said Evelyn, on the porch, where the others were assembled.  “I’d almost like to slip away without a word—­only that would look so ungrateful.  And I’m the most grateful girl alive.”