if he was my brother ten times over.  I mean to be just as true to Herbert as I can Not that he makes it very easy for me, because he has broken altogether with Uncle Jarrott—­and that seems to me the maddest thing.  I certainly sha’n’t get my trousseau from Aunt Helen now.  I don’t see what we’re all coming to.  Everybody is so queer, and they keep hinting things they won’t say out, as if there was some mystery.  I do wish I could talk to Billy about it.  Of course I can’t—­the way matters stand.  And speaking of Billy, that rich Mr. Bird—­you remember I told you about him last winter—­has asked me to marry him.  Just think!  I forget how much he has a year, but it’s something awful.  Of course I told him I couldn’t give him a definite answer yet—­but that if he insisted on it I should have to make it No.  He said he didn’t insist—­that he’d rather wait till I had time to make up my mind, if I didn’t keep him dangling.  I told him I wouldn’t keep him doing anything whatever, and that if he dangled at all it would be entirely of his own accord.  I think he liked my spirit, so he said he’d wait.  We left it there, which was the wisest way—­though I must say I didn’t like his presuming on his money to think I would make a difference between him and the others.  Money doesn’t mean anything to me, though dear mamma hoped she would live to see me well established.  She didn’t, poor darling, but that’s no reason why I shouldn’t try to carry out her wishes.  All the same, I mean to be true to Herbert just as long as possible; and so you may expect me on the twenty-ninth.”

* * * * *

If there was much in this letter that Miriam found disturbing, it was not the thought that Evie might be false to Ford, or that Ford might suffer, which alarmed her most.  There was something in her that cried out in fear before the possibility that Norrie Ford might be free again.  Her strength having sprung so largely from the hope of restoring the plans she had marred, the destruction of the motive left her weak; but worse than that was the knowledge that, though she had tried to empty her heart completely of its cravings, only its surface had been drained.  It was to get assurance rather than to give information that she read fragments of Evie’s letter to Conquest, on the evening of his return from Omaha.  He had come to give her the news of his success.  That it was good news was evident in his face when he entered the room; and, almost afraid to hear it, she had broached the subject of her anxiety about Evie first.

“She’s going to give him the sack; that’s what she’s going to give him,” Conquest said, conclusively, while Miriam folded the dashingly scribbled sheets.  “You needn’t be worried about her in the least.  Miss Evie knows her way about as cleverly as a homing bee.  She’ll do well for herself whatever else she may not do. Come now!”

“I’m not thinking of that so much as that she should do her duty.”