Monday dawned bright and clear. When Jean awoke the sunlight was flooding the room, and through the open window came the sweet voices of the birds as they merrily chirped and sang. As she sprang out of bed she was filled with a sense of well-being and happiness. She could even find it in her heart to laugh a little scornfully at the fancies that had disturbed her, for they had vanished with the vanishing clouds. She dressed hurriedly and ran down to the dining room with a snatch of song upon her lips. By her plate on the breakfast table lay an envelope addressed in a man's legible handwriting. She flushed as she caught it up, and crossed to the window to read it. Farr had written in great haste to say that the Vortex would be in Hetherford Harbor by noon on Monday. When Jean had reached that point in his note she read no further. She stood very still, her hands holding the bit of paper closely, her breath coming hurriedly through her slightly parted lips. For one moment thus—then the maid entered bearing the coffee urn, Larry clattered noisily into the room, and Jean turned back to the ordinary duties of everyday life. But her face was still illumined, and in the depths of her shining eyes lingered the reflection of her soul's great happiness.

During the morning a telegram came from Helen saying that she and Miss Stuart would arrive by the afternoon express. Jean had just terminated a long interview with the cook, and was frowning portentously over her unusual duties as housekeeper, when Nathalie brought her the news. She made a grimace and then proceeded to inform Nathalie of the approaching arrival of the Vortex, subduing as best she could the tremor of excitement in her voice. Nathalie was jubilant. At last the dull days were at an end, and they would start on a new round of festivities. While she was chattering volubly it suddenly occurred to Jean that it would be a pleasant welcome to Helen and Miss Stuart to ask Mr. Dudley and Farr to dinner. She made the suggestion timidly, for she feared that Nathalie would divine the true motive which prompted her. Her mind was instantly set at rest, for Nathalie, overjoyed at the break in the monotony, gave her a friendly push toward the desk to hasten the writing of the notes. Jean laughingly reminded her that the Vortex had not yet arrived, and then they put their two heads together to concoct a dinner which should quite equal one of Helen's ordering.

That afternoon, as they were about starting for the station, Barnes brought back the answer from the Vortex. Farr's was of so grateful and rejoicing a nature that Jean laughed light-heartedly as she read it. It came to her suddenly, as they were bowling along the highroad, that in her note to him she had not mentioned the fact that Miss Stuart was with them, nor had she done so in the one letter she had written him during his absence.

"It was just an oversight," she said to herself. "A mere chance."

A mere chance, and yet chance sometimes means fate.

Helen met them with so many questions about Gladys, the boys, and Aunt Helen, that Jean had no opportunity to unfold her plan for dinner until Miss Stuart had gone to her room, and she had followed her sister into the nursery. Helen was tired and travel-worn, but she was delighted by Jean's thoughtfulness for Lillian's pleasure, and listened interestedly while her sister anxiously submitted the menu for her approval.

"Everything is perfect, dear," she said, putting Gladys down from her lap and making her way out into the hall, "but before I go to dress I must tell Lillian that we are to have guests to dinner," and she turned away without noting the shadow that crossed Jean's face at the mention of Miss Stuart's name.

Miss Stuart stood before her dressing-table arranging the silver toilet articles which she had just taken from her trunk. She had thoroughly enjoyed her stay at Newport, and was feeling in a good humor with all the world. She turned a bright glance of inquiry as the door opened to admit Helen, and betrayed a ready interest in her friend's announcement.

"Who are the men?"

"Two officers from the Coast Survey schooner that is anchored here, Mr. Dudley and Mr. Farr; Valentine Farr."

The little vinaigrette Miss Stuart held in her hand dropped on the dressing-table. Her face contracted sharply, and she made a quick instinctive movement away from the light.

"Valentine Farr," she repeated slowly, keeping her voice well under control. "It must be the same of course."

"Do you know him?" Helen asked the question absent-mindedly, for she was looking about her critically, to assure herself that everything in the room was as it should be.

"Oh, yes. I have known him for a long while." She had quite recovered from her surprise, and spoke lightly, in her usual tone. "What a small world it is after all."

"Dinner at seven, Lillian," Helen said to her as she closed the door; and then she was alone.

"So Val is here," she murmured. "Val, of all people in the world." She flung back her head with a reckless laugh, and began to pace up and down the room.

A flood of recollections swept over her; recollections which stirred her with a strange emotion. How long ago it seemed since sunny-tempered strong-willed Val Farr had wooed her in so masterful a way. What folly it had been, and yet a sweet folly withal! Miss Stuart paused midway in the room. Her face softened, and her beautiful mouth drooped tenderly. She had craved a splendid future which Val could not give her, so she had thrust his love out of her heart, and filled its place with the admiration and exactions of the gay world in which she moved. Val's misfortunes, his poverty, and his estrangement from his family gave her the opportunity which she sought to jilt him. She frowned with vexation as she recalled the look of scorn that he had cast at her when she had laid bare to him the aims and ambitions to which she had sacrificed their love. And after all, it had been a useless, needless exposure, for Val had come to her to give her her freedom. She told herself that she had acted wisely, she laughed to scorn the sentiment that was so hard to stifle—but no other man had ever taken Val's place.

They had met from time to time in Washington, during the past few years, and at each fresh meeting Farr had found himself more and more disillusioned concerning the woman whom he had once loved. Something of this Lillian Stuart divined, with a bitterness of spirit which she could not quell. His indifference stung her to the quick, and she could not renounce the hope that she might win him back, if only circumstances would give her the opportunity. Miss Stuart's thoughts brought her back to the present. She drew her brows together and stared meditatively before her, with eyes that saw nothing of the room around her:

"I wonder if Val is in love with one of these girls, and if so which one."

Jean Lawrence's face flashed before her. She struck her hands sharply together, and an angry light gleamed in her eyes.

"That would be a curious way of punishing me. I have always detested that sister of Helen's."

She crossed to the mirror, and gazed critically at the picture presented there. A smile, slow and cruel, touched her lips, and with a satisfied air of triumph she turned away and began to dress for dinner.

The hands of the little French clock on the mantel were close upon seven, when a knock came at the door and Helen entered. She started back with a faint gasp of admiration, as Miss Stuart turned from the dressing-table and swept across the room to meet her.

"O Lillian," she cried, "how beautiful you look; but, my dear, you will take away my guests' breath. You know we are thoroughly informal at Hetherford."

Miss Stuart raised her hands to clasp a string of pearls about her throat, with slow deliberation.

"I am very sorry," she said distantly, "that my gown does not meet with your approval. I can easily change it."

"Why Lillian, I find your gown charming, and would not have you change it for the world; I exclaimed simply because I did not expect to see you en grande toilette."

"It did not occur to me that I was inappropriately dressed, but of course I am not conversant with your customs here."

The covert sneer was not lost upon Helen, and she flushed painfully at the sharp words. With her usual self-depreciation she felt reproached for what she considered her lack of tact and courtesy.

"I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am, Lillian," she murmured, with deep contrition, "for my inadvertent speech. I never knew you to look lovelier. Won't you please believe me when I tell you that?"

The naÏvetÉ of the compliment touched Miss Stuart, and she smiled gayly into Helen's troubled eyes.

"I admit that I did not understand you at first. I thought that I was guilty of a social error. However, it is all right now."

Helen put her hand on her shoulder, and turned her gently around.

"I want to really see your gown. It is exquisite. What perfect taste you have, Lillian."

Miss Stuart's gown was of the palest shade of green velvet, made so simply as to be almost severe in its lines. The low-cut bodice was ornamented with some fine cut jet, and a little dagger of the same was thrust through the soft coil of auburn hair which crowned her small and shapely head. Her neck and arms shone dazzlingly fair, and the contour of the firm white throat would have delighted the eyes of an artist. The long straight lines of her gown accentuated her height, which was somewhat above the average, and she carried herself with regal grace.

Helen gazed at her a moment in silent admiration. She absolutely worshiped beauty, and its power over her was very great. Had anyone hinted to her that it was chiefly this in Miss Stuart which so charmed her, she would have indignantly refuted the accusation, and yet in a great measure it was true. Many and many a time she had cause to puzzle over her friend—aye, almost to distrust and fear her; but the power of the girl's great beauty blinded her and left her helpless to condemn one who possessed such infinite attraction.

The silence lasted but a moment, yet Miss Stuart had read Helen's verdict in her transparent face, and her pulses quickened with triumphant hope.

"Well, well," she cried laughingly, at length, "are you spellbound, and have you forgotten your guests?"

Helen cast a hurried glance at the clock.

"Why, it is seven. I must run down at once. Follow me as soon as you can, dear."

Down in the drawing-room, Jean was wandering restlessly about, too excited to keep still for one moment. She wore the simplest of her gowns, but one which Farr had once told her he liked. Jean was almost without vanity, but to-night, as she passed the long mirror over the mantel, she could not refrain from glancing therein. She was counting the slow-footed moments, and at every turn her eyes consulted the old Dutch clock in the corner. At last a carriage drove up the graveled road, there were steps upon the veranda, and the front door opened and closed again. She longed to run out into the hall, but an overwhelming shyness deterred her; and even as she halted, irresolute, the portiÈres were pushed apart, and, as in a dream, she saw Farr coming toward her. Her heart beat so she could not trust her voice to speak him greeting.

He caught both her hands in his, and held them closely.

"Jean, do you know how glad I am to see you again?" he whispered.

Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. The depth of her emotion paled her cheek, and her young face wore a look of awe. Farr's heart bounded with joy, and he would have spoken, but suddenly she flushed crimson and, wrenching her hands from his, started forward to meet Dudley, who stood in the doorway, uncertain whether to advance or beat a retreat. Jean covered her embarrassment as best she could; although Dudley tried valiantly to put her at her ease, there was a merry twinkle in his blue eyes which she found very disconcerting. At that moment Helen and Nathalie made their entrance, and Jean moved a little apart from the others, struggling to regain her self-possession.

Farr had turned to appeal to her for confirmation of some statement when a sudden lull fell upon the buzz of conversation. Miss Stuart stood in the doorway, her brilliant figure strikingly set against the dark background of the dimly lighted hall-way. She surveyed them for a brief instant with apparent nonchalance, but that brief glance told her that it was with Jean that Farr was talking. With slow grace she crossed the room and gained Helen's side.

Farr's eyes followed Jean's, and as they reached Miss Stuart his expression underwent a sudden change. She was looking directly at him, and smiled faintly at the dismay in his face.

"Well, Mr. Farr, is it so great a surprise to you to see such an old friend in Hetherford?"

Farr recovered himself, instantly, and met her challenging glance with an impenetrable smile.

"It is, indeed, an unexpected pleasure, Miss Stuart," he said with grave courtesy, and Miss Stuart was conscious of feeling curiously baffled.

To Jean, watching them with dilating eyes, that apparently meaningless incident seemed fraught with significance. All the haunting doubts and fears, that not twelve hours ago she had scorned as morbid fancies, returned upon her with redoubled force. Love, which makes us strangely blind, makes us also strangely alert; and Jean's eyes had seen the change in Farr's face, and as he spoke those few conventional words, her quick ears had detected an unnatural ring in his voice. Miss Stuart had called herself an old friend, and yet Farr had never spoken of her. Jean searched her memory to see if it were possible that she had never mentioned Miss Stuart's name to him, and, as she thus pondered, a chance sentence of Nathalie's reached her:

"You go through the shrubbery——"

She heard no more. In an instant the scene was clear before her—the long stretch of lawn beyond the shrubbery, bright in the silver moonlight, the sound of voices from the parsonage, breaking softly upon the evening stillness, through which Farr and she walked slowly side by side. Then she had spoken of Miss Stuart, and he had certainly disclaimed any acquaintance with her. Her heart grew cold as her first doubt of her lover found lodgment there. As if in consummation of her thoughts, she looked up to see Farr offer Miss Stuart his arm. With a sense of foreboding she followed them slowly into the dining room, smiling a little drearily as she remembered with what eagerness she had anticipated this dinner.

Farr's place at table was between Miss Stuart and Jean, and as they took their seats, he spoke to the latter in a carefully lowered tone:

"You can't imagine how delightful it is to be here again. I was absolutely homesick for the manor while I was away."

"Indeed? How unhappy you must have been."

"I was," he replied gravely, observing for the first time the girl's air of disdain, and wondering at the cause thereof, "and I shall have a new cause for sorrow if you look at me as you are now doing."

Jean's levity was somewhat forced as she replied:

"I am very sorry you are not pleased. I do not find it easy to change my expression."

"No?" He bent a very direct and earnest gaze upon her. "Why, Miss Jean," he said softly, "I thought we were friends when I went away; and only to-night you seemed glad at my return."

The last spark of resentment died out of Jean's heart. Her distrust of him seemed suddenly both groundless and foolish. Ashamed and contrite, she was about to speak, when Miss Stuart's suave voice broke in upon them:

"Mr. Farr, have you heard anything of the Saunders since you left Washington?"

Farr had no alternative but to reply to so direct a question, and Jean, although annoyed at the unwelcome interruption, waited patiently, confident that he would seize upon the first opportunity to resume his conversation with her. As the moments passed, however, and his undivided attention was still given to Miss Stuart, she was first hurt, and then bitterly angry. A lump rose in her throat, and for one miserable moment she thought she was going to cry; then her pride came to her rescue, and under an almost reckless gayety of speech and manner she hid her momentary weakness. It was unjust and unreasonable to blame Farr, but Jean was in no frame of mind for logical argument. He had turned away from her to speak to Miss Stuart, and although she had given him ample time to take up the broken thread of their discourse, he had failed to do so. As she talked on excitedly with Dudley, her cheeks burning, her eyes dark and restless, she was mentally comparing herself with Miss Stuart, whom she had already almost unconsciously begun to regard as her rival. She had always known that Helen's friend was beautiful, but to-night her newly awakened jealousy caused her to lay great stress on the brilliancy and fascination of their guest. She recalled, with curious distinctness, the image of herself which the mirror had shown her while she awaited Farr's coming, and her heart contracted as she thought how colorless she must appear in contrast with Miss Stuart's rich and vivid beauty.

When at length Farr was once more at liberty to address her, she had worked herself up to such a pitch of miserable jealousy that she would have none of him, and took an almost savage delight in thwarting his every attempt at speech with her. He was too reserved to let her see how deeply he was wounded by her flippancy and incivility, and, in his apparent indifference, Jean found an added proof of his disloyalty and of her own unpardonable folly. She had almost come to the end of her courage, when Helen rose, giving the signal to the ladies to withdraw.

Helen sat down before the open piano, and Nathalie picked up her mandolin from the music stand and began to tune it. When she had finished she spoke in a low tone to her sister:

"Let's play Guy's old favorite, will you, dear?"

Helen complied, but not before she had cast a half-guilty glance across the room to where Miss Stuart was gracefully reclining in a huge armchair, to satisfy herself that the mention of her lover's name had escaped her friend's notice. The piano took up the accompanying strains of a soft andante, the mandolin carrying the air with its tremulous and strangely human wail.

Jean leaned her face on her hand as she nestled down among the cushions on the divan. Her good angel was whispering to her in the sweet harmony of the music, and gentler thoughts of her lover were prevailing against the cruel doubts of him which her jealousy had taught her. After all, had not Miss Stuart been chiefly at fault, and had he not honestly striven to make amends?

"It is entirely the result of my morbid dislike of that girl," she said to herself; and when the officers came out from the dining room, she gave Farr a bright glance of welcome, and when he had joined her, she talked to him until her persistent gentleness had completely melted away the barrier of reserve which had crept between them. Once or twice it was on the tip of her tongue to say, "Why did you never tell me that you knew Miss Stuart?" but the words, held back by a foolish sentiment of pride, never passed her lips.

Meanwhile Farr, although touched by the sweet friendliness, was more disheartened than he quite cared to own. He had allowed his hope to grow too quickly, founded on that one honest glance from Jean's eyes, a glance so full of love and trust that he had felt he could not be deceived. Scarcely had he told himself that his happiness was assured when Jean's coldness had denied the love which her eyes had bespoken. No suspicion of the truth had crossed his mind, and as Jean had never been given to moods, he was left to the discouraging conclusion that he had been too hasty and that she was resenting it. She was willing now to treat him with her old-time cordial frankness, for having once clearly defined their relative positions, she was too courteous to continue a course of treatment which she must have seen had greatly pained him. Never until he had reached this unhappy decision had he realized how strong and deep-rooted was his love for Jean. As his eyes rested on her, a longing seized him to take her in his arms, and to bring back to her face that look which had given him such promise of joy.

His unexpected meeting with Miss Stuart had brought back to his memory the foolish impetuosity, the passionate unrest of his boyish love for her, and he thanked God for the wholesome lesson he had learned, and prayed earnestly for the love of this young girl, whose truth and sincerity stirred all the dormant possibilities of his higher nature. With these thoughts in his mind his eyes wandered across the room to where Lillian Stuart sat talking with Dudley. He acknowledged the force and charm of her rare exotic beauty, but it moved him not at all. Her effective pose was studied and artificial. Her face, so perfect in contour, was lacking in any suggestion of tender womanliness, and her glorious eyes, now raised to Dudley's, although full of the power of expression, revealed no depth of soul.

It was refreshing to him to turn once more to Jean, to meet the dear laughter-loving eyes, to watch the fleeting changes of expression on her bonny face, to mark the unconscious grace of every movement of her lithe, slender figure. Yet, the secret of Jean's strong hold on his heart lay not in these superficial attractions, nor in her frank simplicity of manner, nor yet in her girlish freshness, which was her greatest claim to beauty, but in the knowledge he had gained of her true nature; a nature so honest, so unfailing in loyalty, so unselfish, so charitable, so responsive in its sympathies, that both respect and reverence were blended with his love for her. And yet he was not wholly blind to her faults. He knew that she was impatient and hot-tempered, and that, in anger, she was often sarcastic and cutting; but he also saw that she made a brave effort to hold herself in check, and that, however she might be worsted, she never ceased to struggle for the mastery. His meditations had carried him far adrift of the conversation, but although Jean had observed his abstraction, she did not resent it. She was living in a day-dream herself, a dream that was all the happier for that miserable hour at the dinner-table. She rose with a regretful sigh when Helen asked her to go up with a message to Aunt Helen. She looked up at Farr as he held back the portiÈre for her to pass, and impulsively put out her hand to him.

"We are friends again, are we not?" she asked scarcely above her breath.

Farr gripped the little hand so tightly it almost hurt her.

"Only friends, Jean?" was all he said; but Jean was satisfied.

Aunt Helen detained her for some few moments with questions about the dinner, and when at last she was free Mary called to her to please step into the nursery, for Larry was wakeful and naughty and would not be quiet. Quite a half-hour had passed before she re-entered the drawing-room.

She paused on the threshold, attracted by Farr's voice. He was seated just within the doorway. His back was turned toward her and he faced Miss Stuart, who was leaning slightly forward in her chair.

"You are mistaken," he was saying. "I remember everything about that evening, to the color of the gown you wore."

Before the conclusion of this sentence Miss Stuart had detected Jean, half hidden by the heavy portiÈre.

"Those were pleasant days in Washington, Val," she said, accompanying the words with a faint sigh.

Jean, never dreaming that she had been seen, retreated precipitately to a far corner of the hall, and when she once more entered the room her face was pale, but she held her head well up, and with a low "I beg your pardon," swept by the two, who still maintained their positions.

That night Miss Stuart's light burned until a late hour, and in response to Helen's gentle inquiry as to the cause thereof she gave through the closed door, but a curt "Good-night."