“Alan,” she answered simply.  “No, don’t say that,” she interrupted him quickly; “I’m nothing of the sort!  But my mother—­my mother, in a way, left Alan and me to each other, and I have never done anything for Alan.  I went to the Eastern aunt, and he stayed here; and after a while he drifted East—­and he had too much money, of course!  And I wasn’t half affectionate enough; he had his friends and I had mine!  Well then he got ill, and first it was just a cold and then it was, suddenly—­don’t you know?—­a question of consultations, and a dry climate, and no dinners or wine or late hours.  And Alan refused—­refused flat to go anywhere, until I said I’d love to come!  I’ll never forget the night it came over me that I ought to.  I am—­I was—­engaged, you know?” She paused.

Paul cleared his throat.  “No, I didn’t know,” he said.

“It wasn’t announced,” said Miss Chisholm.  “He’s a good deal older than I. A doctor.”  There was a long silence.  “He said he would wait, and he will,” she said softly, ending it.  “It’s not forever, you know.  Another year or two, and he’ll come for me!  Alan’s quite a different person now.  Another two years!” She jumped up, with a complete change of manner.  “Well, I’m over my nonsense for another while!” said she.  “And it’s getting cold.  I can’t tell you how I’ve enjoyed letting off steam this way, Paul!”

“Whenever we feel this way,” he said, giving her a steadying hand in the dark, “we’ll come out for a jaw.  But cheer up; we’ll have lots of fun this winter!”

“Oh, lots!” she said contentedly.  They entered the dark, open doorway together.

Patricia went ahead of him up the stairs, and at the top she turned, and Paul felt her hand for a second on his shoulder, and felt something brush his forehead that was all fragrance and softness and warmth.

Then she was gone.

Paul went into his room, and stood at the window, staring out into the dark.  Only the door of the power-house glowed smoulderingly, and a broad band of light fell from Miss Chisholm’s window.

He stood there until this last light suddenly vanished.  Then he took a letter from his pocket, and began to tear it methodically to pieces.  While he did so Paul began to compose another letter, this time to his mother.

THE RAINBOW’S END

“Well, I am discovered—­and lost.”  Julie, lazily making the announcement after a long silence, shut her magazine with a sigh of sleepy content; and braced herself more comfortably against the old rowboat that was half buried in sand at her back.  She turned as she spoke to smile at the woman near her, a frail, keen-faced little woman luxuriously settled in an invalid’s wheeled chair.

“Ann—­you know you’re not interested in that book.  Did you hear what I said?  I’m discovered.”

“Well, it was sure to happen, sooner or later, I suppose.”  Mrs. Arbuthnot, suddenly summoned from the pages of a novel brought her gaze promptly to the younger woman’s face, with the pitifully alert interest of the invalid.  “You were bound to be recognized by some one, Ju!”