daughter, who soon after left town for Europe, and for three years
were not seen in Boston.

When they _did_ return, it was to announce the marriage of the
Principal Girl to the son of the family lawyer, a clever man, and a
rising politician.

Relations between the literature teacher and the Principal Girl had
never wholly broken off, so ten years after the school adventure it
happened one beautiful day in early September that the teacher was a
guest at the North Shore summer home of the Principal Girl, now the
mother of two handsome boys.

That afternoon at tea, sitting on the verandah, watching the white
sails as the yachts made for Marblehead harbor, and the long line of
surf beating against the rugged rocks beyond the wide pebbly beach on
which the dragging stones made weird music, the literature teacher,
supposing the old story to be so much ancient history that it could,
as can so many of the incidents of one's teens, be referred to
lightly, had the misfortune to mention it. To her horror, the
Principal Girl gave her one startled look, and then rolled over among
the cushions of the hammock in which she was swinging, and burst into
a torrent of tears.

When the paroxysm had passed, she sat up, wiped her eyes in which,
however, there was no laughter, and said passionately:

"I suppose you think me the most ungrateful woman in the world. I know
only too well that to many women my position has always appeared
enviable. Poor things, if they only knew! Of course, my husband is a