Although Miss Frink had presented herself so promptly at breakfast that morning, she had been as sleepless as AdÈle. Waves of wonder and joy had passed over her in the consideration of her happiness, and kept her awake. That honest boy—honest in spite of the part he had been induced to play—admired her, loved her. He had said so, and she believed him. She had not thought her life empty before, but now she felt compassion for her past. Her brain seethed with plans and possibilities, and certain charitable institutions lost a great deal of money that night.

As she thought thus, the remembrance of AdÈle clouded the radiance of her reflections. She had yet this problem to meet. If the young woman would solve it by leaving town, what a mercy it would be! Of course, she had fallen in love with Hugh, head over heels. So, thought Miss Frink, sighing, would probably every girl who met him; but AdÈle had hazarded all, tried to rush the boy off his feet, and, if she had known that he was related to Miss Frink, it would not have deterred her. Her sort fears neither God nor man. Miss Frink shrank into her pillow and closed her sleepless eyes as she recalled AdÈle’s bitter attitude toward herself, and the young woman’s triumphant hope of wounding her.

Miss Frink was a strong woman; but her excitement as she dressed that morning was not sufficient to lift her above her sense of weariness. Explaining the situation to Leonard Grimshaw was before her. It rankled that he would believe her splendid boy to be blameworthy. Then there was John Ogden to be met, and, looming dark above all these, was AdÈle to be dealt with. She had been intending to have a final talk with AdÈle this morning in any case; so, when the waitress at last went up to Mrs. Lumbard’s room with her breakfast, she carried a message that Miss Frink would come in to see her at ten o’clock.

“Pleasant prospect!” thought AdÈle as she sat up in bed to receive the tray. “Thank you, Janet,” she said sweetly to the maid.

“You look awful tired, Mrs. Lumbard,” said the girl, “and so does Miss Frink. There’s all sorts of doings down in the breakfast room.” Janet’s eyes were big. “What do you think! Mr. Stanwood’s name is something else and he’s some sort of relation to Miss Frink all this time, and nobody knew it!”

“Are you sure, Janet?” AdÈle put the cream in her coffee.

“Yes, ma’am,” returned the excited girl. “Stebbins heard Miss Frink say so herself to Mr. Grimshaw.”

“Did Miss Frink seem pleased?” AdÈle broke off a piece of toast, speaking languidly.

“Oh, yes, indeed, and holding his hand.”

“Mr. Grimshaw’s?” AdÈle smiled wanly.

“No, Mr. Stanwood’s; and she seemed so happy over it.”

“Who wouldn’t be happy holding Mr. Stanwood’s hand?”

Janet giggled. “Yes, ain’t he awful handsome?—and now he’ll be the biggest catch in Farrandale; but I guess there won’t any o’ the girls have a chance when you’re around, Mrs. Lumbard.”

Janet’s head fell to one side in sentimental admiration as she regarded AdÈle.

The latter smiled and nodded at her: “You’d better run along, Janet.”

The maid disappeared, and AdÈle again clamped down the lid on the humiliating memories of last evening. She must not be humiliated when Miss Frink came in. She remembered the violence of her own attack upon that lady and regretted it as most unwise; nevertheless, her head might be “bloody,” but it should be “unbowed.” It had been quite evident for some time that Miss Frink’s hospitality was being strained; AdÈle could not in any case have hoped to remain here much longer. Why should she be ashamed of loving Hugh? Why should she be ashamed of trying to get him? She was not. It was all in the game. She had lost for the present, but who could tell?

By the time Miss Frink’s knock sounded on the door, the young woman was dressed and ready to open it with an attempt at a smile.

“Good-morning, Aunt Susanna.”

“Good-morning, AdÈle.” Miss Frink regarded the calm face and unfallen eyes uncomfortably; and felt her own self-possession strengthened by such control.

“Well,” she began, as they sat down in neighboring chairs, “we have come to the parting of the ways, AdÈle.”

“Have we? Where are you going?” was the astonishing reply.

Miss Frink grimaced her glasses off the eyes beneath which were dark shadows, and at once replaced them.

“You certainly help me not to beat about the bush,” she said. “I thought perhaps last night’s experience would make you feel you did not care to stay in Farrandale.”

“After your giving such an expensive advertisement for me?” AdÈle smiled.

Miss Frink’s own deep happiness embarrassed her. Hugh’s earnest “Be kind to Ally,” rang in her ears. This adventuress, pale and defiant, seemed to her so pitiful that, in spite of the other’s audacity, she had to summon her customary directness with an effort.

“That wouldn’t be good economy, would it?” added AdÈle.

There was a pause; then Miss Frink spoke again: “I must tell you that I have discovered, quite by accident, that you are not the granddaughter of my dear friend. Her son married a lady with a little girl, a little pianist.”

Color stole over AdÈle’s pallor.

“Ah, Mr. Ogden is a regular god in the machine, isn’t he?” she said lightly. “Delightful man!”

“My informant was unaware that he was telling me any news,” went on Miss Frink; “but, this being the case, I feel that it would be rather foolish for us to keep up the pose of aunt and niece.”

“Especially,” returned AdÈle “since you have found some one with the right of blood to call you ‘Aunt Susanna.’”

Miss Frink regarded her composed companion in silence. Not with her could she exchange words concerning her heart-warming miracle.

“A few days ago,” she said, “I obtained the refusal for you of a room at the Coopers’: cousins of Leonard’s. If you decide to stay in Farrandale, he will take you over there to-day and introduce you. Mrs. Cooper is ready for you to take possession at any minute. They have a very good piano.”

“I thought,” said AdÈle, with unabashed eyes, “that I should like to go to the Duanes’. I hear they have such a pleasant garden, and I believe they are poor and might like a paying guest.”

Miss Frink regarded her incredulously. Was there, then, no limit to her audacity?

“Colonel Duane was very nice to me last evening,” added AdÈle. “Such a courtly old gentleman.”

“They keep no maid and would not take any one,” said Miss Frink briefly.

“I shouldn’t be any trouble, for I would help Miss Duane like one of the family.”

Miss Frink felt a sort of horror of the smooth, fair speaker. She had been prepared to be very kind to the poor woman who had blundered so pitifully, but her own assurances to Hugh came back to her: the occurrence was no tragedy to Mrs. Lumbard, evidently to her while there was life, there was hope. To suggest going to the Duanes’! The image of Millicent rose before Miss Frink as the antithesis of all that AdÈle represented.

The latter smiled now, wan, but still unembarrassed.

“If you are thinking that it will be awkward for me to meet Hugh, you are mistaken. He hasn’t lived all his life in a small town. He knows his way about. No man ever thought less of a woman for caring a lot for him, and Hugh and I will always be pals. I don’t think any the less of him for coming into your house under false colors. He carried his point.”

Miss Frink’s cheeks flushed. “Why, indeed, should you criticize him? You did the same.”

“Only I didn’t carry my point. You never liked me.”

“Nor were you really my niece,” said Miss Frink briefly. “AdÈle,” she added—and there was appeal in her voice—“in this nine days’ wonder that is coming upon Farrandale I wish that, for the sake of such hospitality as I have shown you, you would help to give the true explanation of Hugh’s manner of introducing himself here. It was Mr. Ogden’s idea entirely, inasmuch as I had not been friendly to Hugh’s family. The sequel you know.”

AdÈle’s stolid expression did not change, and she did not speak.

Miss Frink sat, looking at her and waiting.

“The truth generally comes out about everything,” said the young woman at last.

“AdÈle, AdÈle,” said Miss Frink solemnly. “Why won’t you try to make your life measure up to the beauty of your art? What I heard last evening will be buried forever, as you know, unless you yourself force a remembrance of it.” She looked at her watch. “Leonard will take you over to Mrs. Cooper’s as soon as you are ready.”

Miss Frink went out and closed the door. For the first time in her life she quivered with feeling. Her cheeks were flushed.

At the foot of the stairway she met John Ogden.

“Just the lady I want to see!” he cried cheerfully.

“Very well—my benefactor,” she said slowly.

“Do my ears deceive me? How good that sounds!” He seized both her hands for a quick moment. Her flushed face and subdued tone impressed him.

“I’m afraid you’re very tired, Miss Frink. Too much excitement, perhaps.”

“Yes; in this world we must accept the bitter with the sweet, but—nothing is any matter. What did you want of me?”

“Why, I’m leaving for New York to-night, and I wish to ask a privilege before I go. I’ve no doubt there are numbers of gentle-folk in Farrandale, but I happen to have made the acquaintance of only two: Colonel Duane and his granddaughter. Tongues are going to buzz for a while now, and I would like to beat the gossips to it with those fine people. I should like to tell them my own part in what has taken place.”

“Very well; I have no objection. Open confession is good for the soul.” Miss Frink smiled wearily.

“Now you go to bed, Miss Frink. Please do. Let Grimshaw run the city of Farrandale to-day.”

“He is very soon going to escort Mrs. Lumbard to her new abiding-place at Mrs. Cooper’s.”

“That will rest you, eh?” asked Ogden appreciatively. “She really intends to stay here and teach the young idea?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I ought not to let her,” returned Miss Frink, and her companion saw her hold her lip under her teeth to still its quivering. “I seem to be sponsoring her, you see.”

“My dear Miss Frink, don’t you worry,” returned Ogden, speaking low but emphatically, for they were still standing at the foot of the stairs. “Don’t worry a minute. She won’t stick to that teaching a month.”

Miss Frink gave him a rather tremulous smile of gratitude; and, before Ogden took his hat to run out on his errand, he went up to Hugh’s room where the latter was busy with his books.

“Say, boy,” he said, “I’ve just come from Miss Frink, and she had just come from a talk with your friend Ally; and I tell you she was all in.”

Hugh wheeled around in his chair and fixed a troubled look on his friend.

“Yes, Miss Frink looked old and tired. Her pep was gone. Mrs. Re—Lumbard is leaving to-day, it seems.”

“Leaving Farrandale?” asked Hugh, with an eagerness which his friend misunderstood.

“No; don’t be afraid. I think Miss Frink is worrying about her being turned loose among the Farrandale lambs; and I just want to say, Hugh, that if you continue to pal with Mrs. Lumbard you’ll make a great mistake from every point of view. You owe it to Miss Frink to ease off and not encourage her. Miss Frink doesn’t want her coming here.”

Hugh continued his troubled stare. “I hope you didn’t tell her the damaging thing you told me—about the courts.”

“Of course not,” said Ogden impatiently; “but Miss Frink has the woman’s number all right. I don’t know what their good-bye talk was like, but this fine aunt of yours came out of it wounded. I tell you she was wounded; and you want to think of her and protect her, boy.”

“I’m going to, Ogden. Thank you,” replied Hugh, with a submissiveness that surprised his friend.

John Ogden stared at him for a silent moment. “Well, then,” he said, vaguely, and left the room.