No, Keith said; he had not heard lately.  His manner had stiffened at the young man’s condescension, and he rose to go.

He said casually to Lois, as he shook hands, “How did you hear the piece of news you mentioned?”

“Mrs. Nailor told me.  You must tell me all about it.”

“I will sometime.”

“I hope you will be very happy,” she said earnestly; “you deserve to be.”  Her eyes were very soft.

“No, I do not,” said Keith, almost angrily.  “I am not at all what you suppose me to be.”

“I will not allow you to say such things of yourself,” she said, smiling.  “I will not stand my friends being abused even by themselves.”

Keith felt his courage waning.  Her beauty, her sincerity, her tenderness, her innocence, her sweetness thrilled him.  He turned back to her abruptly.

“I hope you will always think that of me,” he said earnestly.  “I promise to try to deserve it.  Good-by.”

“Good-by.  Don’t forget me.”  She held out her hand.

Keith took it and held it for a second.

“Never,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes.  “Good-by”; and with a muttered good-by to Dr. Locaman, who stood with wide-open eyes gazing at him, he turned and went down the steps.

“I don’t like that man,” said the young Doctor.  This speech sealed his fate.

“Don’t you?  I do,” said Lois, half dreamily.  Her thoughts were far from the young physician at that moment; and when they returned to him, she knew that she would never marry him.  A half-hour later, he knew it.

The next morning Lois received a note from Keith, saying he had left for his home.

When he bade Mrs. Lancaster good-by that evening, she looked as if she were really sorry that he was going.  She walked with him down the verandah toward where his carriage awaited him, and Keith thought she had never looked sweeter.

He had never had a confidante,—­at least, since he was a college boy,—­and a little of the old feeling came to him.  He lingered a little; but just then Mrs. Nailor came out of the door near him.  For a moment Keith could almost have fancied he was back on the verandah at Gates’s.  Her mousing around had turned back the dial a dozen years.

Just what brought it about, perhaps, no one of the participants in the little drama could have told; but from this time the relations between the two ladies whom Keith left at the hotel that Summer night somehow changed.  Not outwardly, for they still sat and talked together; but they were both conscious of a difference.  They rather fenced with each other after that.  Mrs. Nailor set it down to a simple cause.  Mrs. Lancaster was in love with Gordon Keith, and he had not addressed her.  Of this she was satisfied.  Yet she was a little mystified.  Mrs. Lancaster hardly defined the reason to herself.  She simply shut up on the side toward Mrs. Nailor, and barred her out.  A strange thing was that she