“Yes, yes,” Laura said hurriedly.  “I will.  I’ll do whatever you say.”

“It’s perfectly simple:  all I want you to do is to take charge of my travelling-bag, and, when a messenger-boy comes, give it to him without letting anybody know anything about it.”

“But I’ve got to know where you’re going—­I can’t let you go and not——­”

“Yes, you can!  Besides, you’ve promised to.  I’m not going to do anything foolish ——­”

“Then why not tell me?” Laura began.  She went on, imploring Cora to confide in her, entreating her to see their mother—­to do a dozen things altogether outside of Cora’s plans.

“You’re wasting your breath, Laura,” said the younger sister, interrupting, “and wasting my time.  You’re in the dark:  you think I’m going to run away with Val Corliss and you’re wrong.  I sent him out of the house for good, a while ago——­”

“Thank heaven for that!” cried Laura.

“I’m going to take care of myself,” Cora went on rapidly.  “I’m going to get out of the mess I’m in, and you’ve got to let me do it my own way.  I’ll send you a note from downtown.  You see that the messenger——­”

She was at the door, but Laura caught her by the sleeve, protesting and beseeching.

Cora turned desperately.  “See here.  I’ll come back in two hours and tell you all about it.  If I promise that, will you promise to send me the bag by the——­”

“But if you’re coming back you won’t need——­”

Cora spoke very quietly.  “I’ll go to pieces in a moment.  Really, I do think I’d better jump out of the window and have it over.”

“I’ll send the bag,” Laura quavered, “if you’ll promise to come back in two hours.”

“I promise!”

Cora gave her a quick embrace, a quick kiss, and, dry-eyed, ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house.

She walked briskly down Corliss Street.  It was a clear day, bright noon, with an exhilarating tang in the air, and a sky so glorious that people outdoors were continually conscious of the blue overhead, and looked up at it often.  An autumnal cheerfulness was abroad, and pedestrians showed it in their quickened steps, in their enlivened eyes, and frequent smiles, and in the colour of their faces.  But none showed more colour or a gayer look than Cora.  She encountered many whom she knew, for it was indeed a day to be stirring, and she nodded and smiled her way all down the long street, thinking of what these greeted people would say to-morrow. “I saw her yesterday, walking down Corliss Street, about noon, in a gray suit and looking fairly radiant!” Some of those she met were enemies she had chastened; she prophesied their remarks with accuracy.  Some were old suitors, men who had desired her; one or two had place upon her long list of boy-sweethearts:  she gave the same gay, friendly nod to each of them, and foretold his morrow’s thoughts of her, in turn.  Her greeting of Mary Kane was graver, as was aesthetically appropriate, Mr. Wattling’s engagement having been broken by that lady, immediately after his drive to the Country Club for tea.  Cora received from the beautiful jilt a salutation even graver than her own, which did not confound her.