to put upon the affair, she apparently had no reservations, and they talked of their future as a thing assured.  The Dark Ages, as they agreed to call the period of despair for ever closed that morning, had matured their love till now it was a rapture of pure trust.  They talked as if nothing could prevent its fulfilment, and they did not even affect to consider the question of his family’s liking it or not liking it.  She said that she thought his father was delightful, and he told her that his father had taken the greatest fancy to her at the beginning, and knew that Dan was in love with her.  She asked him about his mother, and she said just what he could have wished her to say about his mother’s sufferings, and the way she bore them.  They talked about Alice’s going to see her.

“Of course your father will bring your sisters to see me first.”

“Is that the way?” he asked:  “You may depend upon his doing the right thing, whatever it is.”

“Well, that’s the right thing,” she said.  “I’ve thought it out; and that reminds me of a duty of ours, Dan!”

“A duty?” he repeated, with a note of reluctance for its untimeliness.

“Yes.  Can’t you think what?”

“No; I didn’t know there was a duty left in the world.”

“It’s full of them.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Alice!” He did not like this mood so well as that of the morning, but his dislike was only a vague discomfort—­nothing formulated or distinct.

“Yes,” she persisted; “and we must do them.  You must go to those ladies you disappointed so this morning, and apologise—­explain.”

Dan laughed.  “Why, it wasn’t such a very ironclad engagement as all that, Alice.  They said they were going to drive out to Cambridge over the Milldam, and I said I was going out there to get some of my traps together, and they could pick me up at the Art Museum if they liked.  Besides, how could I explain?”

She laughed consciously with him.  “Of course.  But,” she added ruefully, “I wish you hadn’t disappointed them.”

“Oh, they’ll get over it.  If I hadn’t disappointed them, I shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t like that.  Should you?”

“No; but I wish it hadn’t happened.  It’s a blot, and I didn’t want a blot on this day.”

“Oh, well, it isn’t very much of a blot, and I can easily wipe it off.  I’ll tell you what, Alice!  I can write to Mrs. Frobisher, when our engagement comes out, and tell her how it was.  She’ll enjoy the joke, and so will Miss Wrayne.  They’re jolly and easygoing; they won’t mind.”

“How long have you known them?”

“I met them on Class Day, and then I saw them—­the day after I left Campobello.”  Dan laughed a little.

“How, saw them?”

“Well, I went to a yacht race with them.  I happened to meet them in the street, and they wanted me to go; and I was all broken up, and—­I Went.”

“Oh!” said Alice.  “The day after I—­you left Campobello?”