greater degree than she.  He said to himself that she might at least have had confidence in his honor and his generosity.  However, pity for her and that readiness to do his duty—­to love her—­were uppermost.  The quick glance which he had given Maria that morning had filled him with pleasure.  Maria, in her dull-rose blouse, with her cluster of chrysanthemums, with her fair, emotional face held by sheer force of will in a mould of serenity, with her soft yellow coils of hair and her still childish figure, was charming.  After that one glance at Evelyn, with her astonishing beauty, he thought no more about her.  When his address was finished the usual routine of the school began.

He did not see Maria again all day.  She had her own class-room, and at noon she and Evelyn ate their luncheon together there.  Evelyn did not say a word about the new principal.  She was very quiet.  She did not eat as usual.

“Don’t you feel well, dear?” asked Maria.

“Yes, sister,” replied Evelyn.  Then suddenly her lips quivered and a tear rolled down the lovely curve of her cheek.

“Why, Evelyn, precious, what is the matter?” asked Maria.

“Nothing,” muttered Evelyn.  Then suddenly, to her sister’s utter astonishment, the young girl sprang up and ran out of the room.

Maria was sure that she heard a muffled sob.  She thought for a second of following her, then she had some work to do before the afternoon session, and she also had a respect for others’ desires for secrecy, possibly because of her long carrying about of her own secret.  She sat at her table with her forehead frowning uneasily, and wrote, and did not move to follow Evelyn.

Evelyn, when she rushed out of the class-room, took instinctively her way towards a little but dense grove in the rear of the academy.  It was a charming little grove of firs and maples, and there were a number of benches under the trees for the convenience of the pupils.  It was rather singular that there was nobody there.  Usually during the noon-hour many ate their luncheons under the shadow of the trees.  However, the wind had changed, and it was cool.  Then, too, the reunions among the old pupils were probably going on to better advantage in the academy, and many had their luncheons at a near-by restaurant.  However it happened, Evelyn, running with the tears in her eyes, her heart torn with strange, new emotion which as yet she could not determine the nature of, whether it was pain or joy, found the grove quite deserted.  The cold sunlight came through the golden maple boughs and lay in patches on the undergrowth of drying golden-rod and asters.  Under the firs and pines it was gloomy, and a premonition of winter was in the air.  Evelyn sat down on a bench under a pine-tree, and began to weep quite unrestrainedly.  She did not know why.  She heard the song of the pine over her head, and it seemed to increase her apparently inconsequent grief.  In reality she