The days that followed were the quietest that this summer had brought to Hetherford. Not only had the Vortex gone, but Wendell and Churchill had carried the other men off on the Sylph for a long-planned fishing excursion, and the girls were left to their own devices. This was too common an occurrence to be looked upon as a great hardship; yet it was quite obvious, even to Nan, that they did not revel so much in their once treasured independence, and that the old-time simple pleasures had somehow lost their zest. There was something strangely amiss in the little colony. Jean, who had always been depended upon to set the ball rolling, and to keep everyone in good spirits, failed them utterly. She was so quiet and absent-minded, so unlike her usual self, that Eleanor began to fear that her surmises in regard to the letter had been incorrect after all. Miss Stuart's presence at the manor acted as a great restraint upon everybody. She did not adapt herself in the least to their quiet, humdrum existence, and maintained a stoical silence that was especially irritating. The weather was very depressing. A fine drizzling rain fell persistently, the sky was gray and leaden, and the roads and lanes were almost impassable with the mud. The dampness retarded Gladys' recovery, and she was fractious and troublesome. Poor Helen was in despair, for Miss Stuart was unreasonable enough to resent her spending so much time in the nursery, and took small pains to conceal the fact that she was almost bored to death.

By Friday Aunt Helen was seriously fretting over her niece, for Helen was looking pale and tired and seemed quite incapable of coping with the anxieties of housekeeping, Gladys, and the entertainment of her difficult friend.

On the afternoon of this day the rain ceased and Nathalie, in despair of any more interesting amusement, declared her intention to drive to the station to see the express arrive.

"Not that anyone ever comes here," she said dolorously as she drew on her driving gloves.

An hour later she burst into the drawing-room, her face radiant, her eyes twinkling. Helen sat before the low tea-table serving tea, Miss Stuart lounged in a huge armchair, while Jean was on her way between the tea-table and Miss Stuart, with a dainty cup in her hand. She paused, and looked expectantly at Nathalie.

"Well, cheer up, girls, for I have some news at last. Who do you think arrived to-day?"

Even Miss Stuart leaned forward in her chair, and lost something of her air of languor.

"Don't ask tiresome riddles, Nathalie," pleaded Jean, "but tell us."

"Mrs. Archer."

Miss Stuart looked blank; Helen laughed softly, and Jean handed Miss Stuart her cup of tea with a disgusted expression on her bonny face.

"You must, indeed, be in the depths to call that good news," she said scornfully.

"I didn't say good news. I said news," Nathalie retorted triumphantly, "and in any case I think Mrs. Archer is a godsend after the monotony of the last few days."

Miss Stuart smiled faintly for Nathalie, but echoed her sentiments.

"I think Cliff's mother is a charming woman," interposed Helen. "She is somewhat overbearing and imposing, but I know she does not mean to be disagreeable."

"I like her," maintained Nathalie. "She is so worldly, so thoroughly magnificent."

Jean laughed and meekly took her cup of tea from Helen.

"I have not another word to say. I suppose the truth is that I am mortally afraid of Mrs. Archer. She completely subdues me."

After a moment she spoke again, from the comfortable place she had taken on the divan:

"Do you know, Nathalie, just for one moment I thought it might have been Guy of whom you were speaking."

Helen set the teapot down suddenly, and there was a moment's uncomfortable silence. Miss Stuart let her glance travel slowly from Helen's flushed face to Jean's grave one.

"Are you speaking of Mr. Appleton?" she asked lazily.

"Yes," replied Jean, with perfect unconsciousness, "I suppose you met him at the same time you did Helen. I wish it had been he instead of Mrs. Archer."

Miss Stuart shrugged her shoulders, and answered with insolent disregard of Jean's evident affection for Guy:

"A nice enough man in his way, but so deadly uninteresting, so lacking in that knowledge of the world which alone makes a man worth talking to."

Jean's eyes flashed, and her voice trembled with anger.

"Mr. Appleton is a very dear friend of ours, Miss Stuart, and to none of us is it agreeable to hear him spoken ill of."

She looked impulsively across at Helen, feeling sure that her sister would speak some word of vindication of Guy, but the girl's head was bent and she seemed wholly occupied in pushing the tea-cups aimlessly about on the polished surface of the mahogany tea-table. For the first time in her life Jean felt a contempt for her sister, and pressed her lips tightly together to keep down the bitter words that rose to them. Nathalie, who hated a scene above all things, and yet was too thoroughly in sympathy with Jean to feel equal to changing the conversation, sat down at the piano and began to drum.

Miss Stuart looked from one to the other and laughed unpleasantly.

"Mr. Appleton should be proud of such an ardent champion."

Jean made no answer. She finished her tea in silence and then left the room, followed by a sneering glance from Miss Stuart's eyes.

That evening Mrs. Andrews and her sister, Mrs. Archer, called at the manor. The young people had taken advantage of the first clear evening since Miss Stuart's arrival and had gone for a walk, so Mrs. Dennis asked her guests up to her room. During the conversation Mrs. Andrews said:

"How badly Helen is looking lately."

Aunt Helen agreed with her and related to Mrs. Archer the facts of Gladys' accident, and dilated upon Helen's untiring devotion to her little sister.

"She is worn out," she sighed in conclusion, "and it is so hard for her to have Miss Stuart here just at present."

"You don't mean Lillian Stuart, that beautiful girl about whom everyone is raving?" exclaimed Mrs. Archer, roused to a degree of interest she rarely felt when in Hetherford.

"I suppose it is the same. She is certainly very beautiful, but somehow," and Aunt Helen's face grew puzzled, "she doesn't seem at all the kind of girl my Helen should care for. However, they are close friends, so I——"

"Oh, she is a great belle," Mrs. Archer interrupted brusquely. "Poor girl! What in the world does she do with herself in this out-of-the-way place?"

Mrs. Andrews replied with some heat:

"She must be very hard to please if she cannot find anything to amuse or interest her here."

A gleam of amusement flashed into Aunt Helen's eyes, but was instantly suppressed. Hetherford was the basis of an old feud between the sisters, and had been the cause of more than one bitter quarrel. Mrs. Archer was a fashionable woman to the tips of her fingers, and for years she had striven to impress her easy-going sister with the importance of society, and to persuade her at least to spend her summers in some resort more frequented by the world of society. Mrs. Andrews, however, stood out against her and stoutly maintained that she and her children were perfectly happy where they were, and Mrs. Archer had to content herself with an occasional visit from her niece Mollie, who was eminently unsatisfactory as a fashionable girl. To crown her displeasure, her only son Clifford, instead of finding pleasure in his charming home at Newport, insisted upon spending the summer at Hetherford Inn, and Mrs. Archer bore a great grudge against this small place. She was a very hospitable woman, and enjoyed keeping open house, but she found it a great drawback to have no young person at home.

As she rose to leave, it suddenly occurred to her that it would be very delightful to take two of the girls back to Newport with her. Her choice fell upon Helen, because in that way she could include Miss Stuart in the invitation. Mrs. Dennis met the suggestion with approval, for she knew it would do Helen good to get away from home for a few days, and that so pleasant a change would please Miss Stuart. In the midst of the discussion, the two girls walked into the room.

Mrs. Archer's shrewd, worldly eyes took in every detail of Miss Stuart's beautiful face and faultless gown, and she instantly dropped the somewhat patronizing tone she had used toward Helen, and urged their acceptance with great cordiality. Helen hesitated, for she was loath to leave Gladys again, but Aunt Helen and Miss Stuart overruled all her objections, and it was agreed that they should accompany Mrs. Archer.

The quiet that settled down over the manor after their departure was very grateful to Jean, who during the past week had been disturbed and harassed. She knew that she was fast approaching the most serious crisis of her life. All during these joyous summer days she had drifted on so happily, evading self-questionings, living only for the day. Now she realized that the drifting was at an end. On his return Valentine Farr would speak to her, and although she had no doubt as to the answer she would give him, yet she trembled a little and would fain have been alone with her secret. And now, when she would have had her whole mind dominated by this one thought, Miss Stuart's unwelcome presence in the house thrust other and less pleasant thoughts upon her. Up to the time of this last visit Jean's dislike of Miss Stuart had been a vague, passing sentiment, which had concerned her but little. She had distrusted her always, but even that distrust was purely intuitive, for she had no idea of the part Miss Stuart had played in the severing of Helen's engagement. In that slight controversy about Guy, however, Jean had unwittingly pierced beneath the surface of Miss Stuart's suave manner, and had caught a glimpse of the girl's true nature. She could not understand why this should affect her so strongly. In vain she tried to account for it to herself. Miss Stuart, although so dear a friend of Helen's, occupied a comparatively unimportant position in their home life. In another fortnight she would be gone from among them, and for months they would know nothing of her, save what Helen might choose to communicate from her oft received letters. So Jean argued with herself, battling with a curious sense of apprehension that struggled within her. She longed to talk it all over with Aunt Helen, whose judgment was always to be trusted; but that seemed a kind of disloyalty to Helen, so she smothered the vague doubts and fears which threatened to overwhelm her usual good sense. Her thoughts flew off to Farr, and poised over that strange talk they had had on that last afternoon. She drew from her pocket a letter that had come from him, and read it over slowly, lingering over every sentence. But when she had finished and was folding it into its envelope again, she sighed a little, for even that dear missive could not quite dispel the vision which haunted her of Lillian Stuart's beautiful, cruel face.