her cud, that Cyrus had been simply mad over another girl, and only
married her because he could not get the other one, and when the other
died, five years after he was married to Ada, he sent flowers, and I
should not to this day venture to speak that girl's name to the man.
She was a great beauty, and she had a wonderful witchery about her. I
was only a child, but I remember how she looked. Why, I fell in love
with her myself! Cyrus can never forget a woman like that for a
cud-chewing creature like Ada, even if she does keep his house in order
and make a good mother to his children. The other would not have kept
the house in order at all, but it would have been a shrine. Cyrus
worshipped that girl, and love may supplant love, but not worship. Ada
does not know, and she never will through me, but I declare I was
almost wicked enough to tell her when I saw her placidly darning away,
without the slightest conception, any more than a feather pillow would
have, of what this ridiculous affair with me might mean in future
consequences to poor, innocent little Peggy. But I can only hope the
boy has gotten over his feeling for me, that he has been really
changeable, for that would be infinitely better than the other thing.


Well, I shall not need to go away. Harry Goward has himself solved that
problem. He goes himself to-morrow. He has invented a telegram about a
sick uncle, all according to the very best melodrama. But what I feared
is true--he is still as mad as ever about me. I went down to the
post-office for the evening mail, and was coming home by moonlight,
unattended, as any undesirable maiden aunt may safely do, when the boy
overtook me. I had heard his hurried steps behind me for some time. Up
he rushed just as we reached the vacant lot before the Temple house,
and caught my arm and poured forth a volume of confessions and avowals,
and, in short, told me he did not love Peggy, but me, and he never