"May I come in, Aunt Helen?"

"Certainly, dear." Aunt Helen looked up from the open Bible on her knee, and welcomed Jean with a cheery smile. "Where were you all yesterday? I did not have a glimpse of you."

The girl crossed the room, and dropping down into an easy-chair near the open window, gazed listlessly out across the sunlit lawn.

"Oh, I was just here as usual."

Aunt Helen closed her Bible and laid it carefully down on the table.

"Are you tired already of so much pleasuring, Jeanie?"

"I don't see that we have had a great deal of pleasuring lately," her niece replied perversely. "I think Hetherford is the stupidest place in the world, and I am tired of everything."

Aunt Helen was far too wise to remonstrate just then. After a moment's silence, she opened a subject which had never failed to awaken an interest in Jean.

"I had a nice letter from Mrs. Appleton to-day. They seem to be thoroughly enjoying themselves now, and she says Guy is working splendidly and expects to accomplish great things on his return."

"Yes," was Jean's inattentive response, as her eyes marked the circling of a buzzing fly outside the window.

"Miss Stuart is making quite a long visit," ventured Aunt Helen patiently. "I had thought that she would soon tire of Hetherford."

"I am sure I don't see why she doesn't go away. The whole house is turned upside down to provide her with amusement. It is a perfect bore."

"My dear," Aunt Helen objected, "that is surely not the spirit of true hospitality. We do not speak ill of our guests. Noblesse oblige."

"I can't help it," and Jean, now thoroughly aroused, started up from her chair; "I am not going to pretend to like a person when I don't. She is insufferably patronizing, and I hate her."

Aunt Helen looked up at her niece with real distress in her eyes.

"Why, child," and she held out her hand, "come here. I want to speak to you."

Jean stood irresolute, looking half ashamed, and wholly miserable. At that most inopportune moment Nathalie flung open the door.

"Oh, here you are, Jean. I have been looking all over for you. Come on down and have a game of tennis before dinner. Why, what's the matter?"

Jean hastily averted her face.

"Nothing. I don't care to play tennis."

"Oh, please do, I am just in the humor for it."

"You may be, but I am not," Jean returned curtly.

"What in the world has come over you?" asked Nathalie bluntly. "I never knew anyone's disposition to become as uncertain and irritable as yours has lately."

"Why don't you let me alone, then? My temper may be growing bad, but yours has never been anything else."

Nathalie shrugged her shoulders, and laughing shortly, went on her way without another word.

When the door had closed on her, Jean slipped down on the floor and, burying her face in Aunt Helen's lap, sobbed convulsively.

"I don't know what is the matter with me," she faltered. "I am so cross and irritable lately. Everything seems to set my nerves on edge. I never used to feel so."

Aunt Helen passed her thin hand soothingly over the girl's bent head.

"Don't worry about it, dearie. Of course you did not mean to speak so. You are tired and unstrung to-day."

By and by Jean's sobs grew less frequent, then ceased altogether. She lifted her head, and, resting her arm on Aunt Helen's knee, dropped her chin in her hand, and stared absently before her. All trace of emotion had left her face, and it now wore an expression of utter weariness and dejection. Her aunt looked thoughtfully down at her. Had it been either Helen or Nathalie who had thus given way it would not have troubled her, but proud little Jean was too reserved and self-contained to break down unless she had been very sorely tried. The silence had lasted some few moments when Aunt Helen again spoke.

"In spite of your denial, Jean, I fear that your playtime has lasted too long. Discontent never fails to creep in among us when we are idle. You see, dear, I am taking it for granted that it is nothing deeper than a feeling of discontent which makes you so unhappy. I know of nothing else unless——" She paused. Jean stirred uneasily under her direct glance. Aunt Helen instantly averted her eyes, and resumed: "I am sorry that my ill health forces me to lead my life so apart from you all. I am in ignorance of the many currents and eddies which would otherwise be apparent to me, but if ever you need my advice you know how gladly I will give it to you, and there are times when an old head is better than a young one."

Still Jean did not speak. Aunt Helen sighed a little sadly:

"Well, my child, I suppose I am mistaken, and that your trouble is only a surfeit of pleasure."

"I am a great baby, Auntie, but I am glad I came here to you to have my cry out. You always help me so, and make me ashamed of being so impatient," and Jean looked lovingly up into the worn face which was bent above her.

"Thank you, dearie. You must come to me whenever you feel discouraged and unhappy, and remember I always stand ready to give you whatever comfort or counsel lies within my power. But, Jean," and her voice was very grave, "I have learned from my own experience, both of petty annoyance and of great trials, that there is only one true source of strength."

At a late hour that night Lillian Stuart sat before the low dressing-table in her cozy room, reviewing the events of the past week. The face which the mirror reflected was clouded, the eyes somber and full of fire, for the consciousness of defeat was upon her. As yet, however, no thought of capitulation occurred to her. Farr's indifference, his evident love for another, but deepened her love for him, stinging it into a passion that was well-nigh overmastering her. The difficulties in her path lent new zest to the struggle, rousing within her heart an insatiable desire for conquest. Possession had ever palled upon her. She had loved Farr, but as an accepted lover he had wearied her, and her love for him was not strong enough to drown the voice of worldly wisdom and prudence. To be sure, in those days he was hardly more than a boy, poor and unknown, whereas to-day he was a man well versed in the world's ways, liberally supplied with the world's goods, and with the respect and esteem of his fellow-men, yet preserving the same sweet, magnetic personality which long ago had made such a deep impression on her somewhat fickle heart. These considerations naturally had weight with her, but the secret of her determination lay not in these, but in the obstacles to be surmounted, the flattering assurance that her power could not be foiled. Had she been quite honest with herself she must have acknowledged that once the victory gained the charm would be forever broken. As Farr's wife she would be a thoroughly wretched woman. Knowing full well his hatred of an untruth, his contempt for a deception, his passionate anger at an injustice, did she not dream what a death to his soul a union with her would have been? Alas! she herself had revealed to him the shallowness of her nature, the pettiness of her ambitions, the faithlessness of her heart. The lesson was a bitter one but he had learned it well, and, deep in her soul, Lillian Stuart knew that never again would he give his love unworthily. She hated Jean Lawrence, yet she appreciated her purity and gentleness, the fineness of her nature, the almost exalted bent of her mind. But this appreciation did not soften her heart, nor weaken her determination. Jean had balked her, and Jean must suffer.

The face in the mirror before her grew hard; there were rigid lines about the mouth, the wonderful eyes gleamed strangely bright.

"I love him. I have always loved him. She shall not have him. It is the one satisfaction that is left me if all else fails."

Sharp upon these thoughts came a tap upon the door, and Helen Lawrence entered. A soft wrapper enveloped her slender frame, and her hair hung loose upon her shoulders.

"I wanted to come in for a little chat, Lillian. Do you mind if I braid my hair here?"

"Why, no, indeed. I am glad to have you. Sit down."

Helen drew a chair up close to the dressing-table, and seating herself, began slowly to plait her long soft hair. She put aside some light topic which Miss Stuart suggested, and spoke at once of the subject which lay nearest her heart.

"I am worried about Jean, Lillian. She does not seem like herself lately, and if it were not absurd, I should begin to think she was unhappy about something."

"Indeed." The response was so brief as to be almost an ejaculation. Helen's words accorded strangely with Miss Stuart's thoughts.

"Yes, and you don't know how unusual it is for Jean to be either irritable or moody. She has a very bright, sunny nature, and is particularly sweet-tempered."

"Perhaps there is something troubling her which you have not perceived."

Helen wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully.

"I am afraid there must be."

Miss Stuart darted a swift glance at her.

"Have you ever thought what it might be?"

Helen's attention was caught by a certain tone in her friend's voice. She raised her eyes questioningly:

"No, dear; I wish I had a clew."

"Suppose I should give you one?"

There was genuine surprise in Helen's face. She answered with a tenderness in her voice which gave her companion a pang.

"Why, Lillian, do you know of anything to make Jean unhappy?"

Miss Stuart lifted her head as if to strengthen her purpose, wondering at the sudden weakness in herself which made the words so hard to say:

"Your sister is in love with Mr. Farr."

"Oh!" gasped Helen, staring blankly at her friend.

"I only wonder you have not seen it before," added Miss Stuart coolly.

"Don't you think he is in love with her?" blundered Helen, who had not sufficiently recovered from her astonishment to be very wise in Jean's behalf.

The answer was incisive:

"I do not."

The hot tears rushed to Helen's eyes.

"Oh, my poor little Jean!"

Miss Stuart turned away and, to save herself, spoke harshly:

"For Heaven's sake, Helen, don't cry. It is such a weak thing to do."

The sharp words brought Helen suddenly to a realization of what she had done in thus accepting, without demur, Miss Stuart's statement in regard to Jean. Too late she remembered that it was little short of disloyalty to discuss the subject with an outsider; an outsider, moreover, who had never made any pretense of liking her sister. She resolved to retrieve herself if possible, and answered not a little proudly:

"I am sorry I offended you, Lillian. We often differ in our opinions as to what is weak and what is not."

"Not often, but always," Lillian broke in with a disagreeable laugh.

"Where I was weak," continued Helen, ignoring utterly the interruption, "was, in laying too much stress on your verdict in regard to my sister. I am not authorized to contradict your statement, but I think it is more than probable that your perceptions have been at fault. In regard to Mr. Farr, he has certainly seemed to both like and admire Jean. Once or twice I have even thought him very much concerned about her. Why, at the dance——"

"I imagine, my dear, that your perceptions are equally as faulty as my own. It may interest you to learn that Mr. Farr and I were at one time engaged; that he loved me madly, and that my breaking of the engagement was a terrible blow to him. It is possible, however, since in your opinion Mr. Farr has transferred his affections from me to your sister, that he has already confessed this to her." The taunting words were spoken lightly, but Miss Stuart's eyes searched Helen's face. What she saw there must have satisfied her, for she turned aside with an air of relief.

There was a brief pause, which was broken by a question from Helen:

"Does Mr. Farr still care for you, Lillian?"

The clear truthful eyes met Miss Stuart's squarely, and under their steady gaze she moved restively. It was not easy to tell a direct lie to Helen. She bent her head, and a slow flush mounted to her face.

"That is hardly fair, Helen. He certainly has not told me of any change in his feeling toward me." She flung back her head and her lustrous eyes held a challenge. "You have seen him with me. What do you think?"

Her face was alight with power and magnetism; the scarlet lips were slightly parted, as the breath came hurriedly through them; one firm white hand on her breast held together the loose folds of her dressing-gown, which fell about her superb figure in long, graceful lines. At that moment she was regal, majestic.

Helen gazed at her steadfastly, and her heart sank.

"Poor little Jean," she thought hopelessly. "What could she do?"

For Helen, as was her wont, laid too much stress upon her friend's great beauty of face and form, and overlooked the deeper beauty of her sister's soul.

As she crept into bed that night she murmured to herself:

"I must warn Jean, gently and lovingly. God grant it may not be too late."

Her opportunity came the very next evening, for directly dinner was finished Nathalie and Miss Stuart started off on a long-planned ride with Churchill and Andrews. Jean stood on the veranda to watch them mount and ride away. Her eyes followed them until their four figures, swaying slightly with the motion of the horses, were no longer silhouetted against the evening sky, then descended the broad flight of steps, and wandered out into the garden. The sun had already set, but the earth was still wrapped in the mystic light of the purple after-glow. Once in the sweet old-fashioned garden Jean paced slowly up and down the trim paths, bordered by rows of fragrant mignonette and carnations, and flanked at the corners by tall hollyhocks and slender poppies, and into her sad heart stole something of the peace and quiet of the tranquil spot.

"It is all so strange and incomprehensible," ran her thoughts, "but I am not going to worry about it. There must be some mistake somewhere. I believed in him so implicitly. I felt so sure of his love—oh, I cannot, I will not believe that he deliberately deceived me. If only he were here now, while she is away, I am sure that everything could be explained. Oh, he might come—he might be honest with me!"

The garden gate clicked, and she looked up with startled eyes; but it was only Helen coming down the path to meet her.

"Why did you run away?" her sister asked as she linked her arm in hers.

"I didn't run very fast," smiled Jean. "I sauntered out when the girls started off for their ride. It is so restful here," she added in a lower tone.

"That doesn't sound one bit like you, Jean," said Helen slowly. "I am afraid something must be troubling you, if you feel the need of a restful place where you can be alone."

Jean laughed nervously.

"Why, what an absurd idea, Helen. Why should I be unhappy?"

"That is just what I don't know, dear, but I think you are."

"Well, what if I am?" cried Jean, brought to bay. "One cannot always be perfectly contented and happy; I do not suppose that I am to be any more exempt than other people."

Helen's eyes were bent on the ground, and she spoke with some hesitation.

"Of course that is true enough, but there is usually some definite cause for unhappiness. I don't want to be impertinent, Jean, but is there not some one thing weighing on you at present? Has—" She paused, then went on desperately—"has Mr. Farr anything to do with it?"

She felt the violent start that Jean gave, heard the sharp indrawing of her breath, and she did not dare to raise her eyes to her sister's face for fear of reading there still further confirmation of her surmises. She had need of all her courage yet to deal the cruel blow, and without pausing for breath, she hurried on. Her words were confused, incoherent, but they struck a chill as of death to Jean's tender heart.

"It was only a foolish idea of mine, Jeanie. Of course there is no truth in it—there can't be—there must not be. He—that is, I have just discovered that he is deeply in love with Lillian. They have been engaged, and I fear the engagement is about to be renewed. Why, darling, he is not worthy of a thought of yours. Forget him, Jean, darling. It is only your imagination." Her voice choked, and she ended abruptly.

For an instant not a sound broke the stillness, then Jean faced her sister with strained, wide-open eyes, and spoke to her in a voice that was quite steady, but curiously dull and unnatural.

"I am very glad you have told me of this, Helen. Now that I think of it I am not greatly surprised. You need not worry about me. I am all right."

They had ceased from their walking to and fro, and as they stood thus opposite each other Jean swayed a little. Helen flung both arms around her.

"Oh, darling, what is it? Speak to me. It is only Helen. I love you so, dear."

Jean suffered the embrace, but there was no responsive yielding in the slender, rigid figure. When Helen released her she drew away, and started toward the gate. Helen did not stir, and when Jean had gone a few steps she paused and turned her white, stricken face toward her sister.

"You need not worry about me," she repeated, "I am all right." And then, with a pathetic outstretching of her hands, she added: "It was only my imagination."

Helen sprang forward, but Jean waved her back, and in another moment the shadows of the gloaming hid the flitting figure from Helen's tearful eyes.