From all this it may be gathered that Eliza Appleton was by no means the extraordinary person she seemed.  Beneath her false exterior she was shamelessly normal.

In the days before O’Neil’s return she suffered constant misgivings and qualms of conscience, but the sight of her brother reveling, expanding, fairly bursting into bloom beneath the influence of Natalie Gerard led her to think that perhaps she did have a duty to perform.  Dan’s cause was hers, and while she had only the faintest hope of aiding it, she was ready to battle for his happiness with every weapon at her command.  The part she would have to play was not exactly nice, she reflected, but—­the ties of sisterhood were strong and she would have made any sacrifice for Dan.  She knew that Natalie was fond of him in a casual, friendly way, and although it was evident that the girl accorded him none of that hero-worship with which she favored his chief, Eliza began to think there still might be some hope for him.  Since we are all prone to argue our consciences into agreement with our desires, she finally brought herself to the belief that O’Neil was not the man for Natalie.  He was too old, too confirmed in his ways, and too self-centered to make a good husband for a girl of her age and disposition.  Once her illusions had been rubbed away through daily contact with him, she would undoubtedly awaken to his human faults, and unhappiness would result for both.  What Natalie needed for her lasting contentment was a boy her own age whose life would color to match hers.  So argued Eliza with that supreme satisfaction which we feel in arranging the affairs of others to suit ourselves.

She was greatly embarrassed, nevertheless, when she next met O’Neil and tried to explain that story in The Review.  He listened courteously and smiled his gentle smile.

“My dear,” said he, finally, “I knew there had been some mistake, so let’s forget that it ever happened.  Now tell me about the smallpox epidemic.  When I heard what Linn was doing with our men I was badly worried, for I couldn’t see how to checkmate him, but it seems you and Doc were equal to the occasion.  He cabled me a perfectly proper announcement of Tom’s quarantine, and I believed we had been favored by a miracle.”

“It wasn’t a miracle at all,” Eliza said in a matter-of-fact tone; “it was croton oil.  Nobody has dared tell him the truth.  He still believes he could smell the tuberoses.”

O’Neil seemed to derive great amusement from her account of what followed.  He had already heard Dr. Gray’s version of the affair, but Eliza had a refreshing way of saying things.

“I brought you a little present,” he said when she had finished.

She took the package he handed her, exclaiming with a slight flush of embarrassment, “A s’prise!  Nobody but Dan ever gave me a present.”  Then her eyes darkened with suspicion.  “Did you bring me this because of what I did?”