As Keith and Lois walked slowly homeward, Lois gave him an account of her interview with Wickersham.  Only she did not tell him of his kissing her the first time.  She tried to minimize the insult now, for she did not know what Keith might do.  He had suddenly grown so quiet.

What she said to Keith, however, was enough to make him very grave.  And when he left her at Mrs. Wentworth’s house the gravity on his face deepened to grimness.  That Wickersham should have dared to insult this young girl as he had done stirred Keith’s deepest anger.  What Keith did was, perhaps, a very foolish thing.  He tried to find him, but failing in this, he wrote him a note in which he told him what he thought of him, and added that if he felt aggrieved he would be glad to send a friend to him and arrange to give him any satisfaction which he might desire.

Wickersham, however, had left town.  He had gone West on business, and would not return for some weeks, the report from his office stated.

On reaching home, Lois went straight to her room and thought over the whole matter.  It certainly appeared grave enough to her.  She determined that she would never meet Wickersham again, and, further, that she would not remain in the house if she had to do so.  Her cheeks burned with shame as she thought of him, and then her heart sank at the thought that Keith might at that moment be seeking him.

Having reached her decision, she sought Mrs. Wentworth.

As soon as she entered the room, Mrs. Wentworth saw that something serious had occurred, and in reply to her question Lois sat down and quietly told the story of having met Mr. Wickersham and of his attempting to kiss her, though she did not repeat what Wickersham had said to her.  To her surprise, Mrs. Wentworth burst out laughing.

“On my word, you were so tragic when you came in that I feared something terrible had occurred.  Why, you silly creature, do you suppose that Ferdy meant anything by what he did?”

“He meant to insult me—­and you,” said Lois, with a lift of her head and a flash in her eye.

“Nonsense!  He has probably kissed a hundred girls, and will kiss a hundred more if they give him the chance to do so.”

“I gave him no chance,” said Lois, sitting very straight and stiff, and with a proud dignity which the other might well have heeded.

“Now, don’t be silly,” said Mrs. Wentworth, with a little hauteur.  “Why did you walk in a secluded part of the Park with him?”

“I thought I could help a friend of mine,” said Lois.

“Mr. Keith, I suppose!”

“No; not Mr. Keith.”

“A woman, perhaps?”

“Yes; a woman.”  She spoke with a hauteur which Mrs. Wentworth had never seen in her.

“Cousin Louise,” she said suddenly, after a moment’s reflection, “I think I ought to say to you that I will never speak to Mr. Wickersham again.”

The color rushed to Mrs. Wentworth’s face, and her eyes gave a flash.  “You will never do what?” she demanded coldly, looking at her with lifted head.