The expression in Alice Lancaster’s eyes was softer than it had been for a long time, for it was the light of self-sacrifice that shone in them.

“You have your happiness in your hands,” she said tenderly.

Lois looked up with dissent in her eyes.

Mrs. Lancaster shook her head.

“No.  He will never be in love with me again.”

The girl gave a quick intaking of her breath, her hand clutching at her throat.

“Oh, Mrs. Lancaster!” She was thinking aloud rather than speaking.  “I thought that you cared for him.”

Alice Lancaster shook her head.  She tried to meet frankly the other’s eyes, but as they gazed deep into hers with an inquiry not to be put aside, hers failed and fell.

“No,” she said, but it was with a gasp.

Lois’s eyes opened wide, and her face changed.

“Oh!” she murmured, as the sense of what she had done swept over her.  She rose to her feet and, bending down, kissed Mrs. Lancaster tenderly.  One might have thought she was the elder of the two.

Lois returned home in deep thought.  She had surprised Mrs. Lancaster’s secret, and the end was plain.  She allowed herself no delusions.  The dream that for a moment had shed its radiance on her was broken.  Keith was in love with Mrs. Lancaster, and Alice loved him.  She prayed that they might be happy—­especially Keith.  She was angry with herself that she had allowed herself to become so interested in him.  She would forget him.  This was easier said than done.  But she could at least avoid seeing him.  And having made her decision, she held to it firmly.  She avoided him in every way possible.

The strain, however, had been too much for Lois, and her strength began to go.  The doctor advised Mrs. Wentworth to send her home.  “She is breaking down, and you will have her ill on your hands,” he said.  Lois, too, was pining to get away.  She felt that she could not stand the city another week.  And so, one day, she disappeared from town.

When Wickersham met Mrs. Lancaster after her talk with Lois, he was conscious of the change in her.  The old easy, indulgent attitude was gone; and in her eye, instead of the lazy, half-amused smile, was something very like scorn.  Something had happened, he knew.

His thoughts flew to Keith, Norman, Rimmon, also to several ladies of his acquaintance.  What had they told her?  Could it be the fact that he had lost nearly everything—­that he had spent Mrs. Wentworth’s money?  That he had written anonymous letters?  Whatever it was, he would brave it out.  He had been in some hard places lately, and had won out by his nerve.  He assumed an injured and a virtuous air, and no man could do it better.

“What has happened?  You are so strange to me.  Has some one been prejudicing you against me?  Some one has slandered me,” he said, with an air of virtue.

“No.  No one.”  Mrs. Lancaster turned her rings with a little embarrassment.  She was trying to muster the courage to speak plainly to him.  He gave it to her.