* * * * *

Her first two or three days in town were busy ones; she had her accounts to balance, her inventories to take, her mending to do, her modest summer wardrobe to acquire, letters to write and to answer, engagements to make, to fulfill, to postpone; friends to call on and to receive, duties in regard to the New Idea Home to attend to.

[Illustration:  “The parrot greeted her, flapping his brilliant wings and shrieking from his perch.”]

Also, the morning after her arrival came a special delivery letter from Neville: 

“It was a mistake to go, dear, because, although you could not have known it, matters have changed most happily for us.  You were a welcome guest in my sister’s house; you would have been asked to remain after your visit at Estwich was over.  My family’s sentiments are changing—­have changed.  It requires only you yourself to convince them.  I wish you had remained, although your going so quietly commanded the respect of everybody.  They all are very silent about it and about you, yet I can see that they have been affected most favourably by their brief glimpse of you.

“As for your wishing to remain undisturbed for a few days, I can see no reason for it now, dear, but of course I shall respect your wishes.

“Only send me a line to say that the month of June will mean our marriage.  Say it, dear, because there is now no reason to refuse.”

To which she answered: 

“Dearest among all men, no family’s sentiments change over night.  Your people were nice to me and I have thanked them.  But, dear, I am not likely to delude myself in regard to their real sentiments concerning me.  Too deeply ingrained, too basic, too essentially part of themselves and of their lives are the creeds, codes, and beliefs which, in spite of themselves, must continue to govern their real attitude toward such a girl as I am.

“It is dear of you to wish for us what cannot be; it is kind of them to accept your wish with resignation.

“But I have told you many times, my darling, that I would not accept a status as your wife at any cost to you or to them—­and I can read between the lines, even if I did not know, what it would cost them and you.  And so, very gently, and with a heart full of gratitude and love for you, I must decline this public honour.

“But, God willing, I shall not decline a lifetime devoted to you when you are not with them.  That is all I can hope for; and it is so much more than I ever dreamed of having, that, to have you at all—­even for a part of the time—­even for a part of my life, is enough.  And I say it humbly, reverently, without ignoble envy or discontent for what might have been had you and I been born to the same life amid the same surroundings.

“Don’t write to me again, dear, until I have determined what is best for us.  Before the first day of summer, or on that day, you will know.  And so will I.