and on her lips a hearty kiss was pressed. "Oh, Miss Gibbie, I'm so
glad to see you! /I'm so glad!/ I'm Mary Cary who used to live in
Yorkburg. You don't mind my kissing you, do you? I couldn't help it,
I really couldn't! It's /so/ good to see some one from Yorkburg!"
And she was hugged again, hugged hard.

"Nearly three years ago!" Her lips quivered. "And a different world
you've been living in since. Somebody was really glad to see you. It
makes a great difference in life when some one is glad to see you!"

Was it fate, chance, circumstance that had brought the girl to her?
She did not know. Once she would have said. Maybe God needed them
together, was Mary's view, and she never commented on Mary's views.
In that at least she had learned to hold her tongue. But it did not
matter. They were here in Yorkburg, lives closely interknit, and here,
in the home in which she had been born, she was to live henceforth. And
if but close to her she could keep the girl who had warmed her heart
and opened her eyes she would ask nothing more of life.

For two years and more they had been together. Instantly she had
wanted her, and, never hesitating in efforts to get what she wanted,
a month after the meeting at the little Inn of Le Bon Laboureur she
invited her to be her guest in a trip around the world. The invitation
was blunt. She had long wanted to take this trip, had long been looking
for the proper companion. She had a dog, but he wasn't allowed to come
to the table. Would she go? Her uncle and aunt would not let her miss
the chance. They made her go. Doctor Alden and his wife were sensible
people.

And then the night in Cairo when Mary came in her room, sat on the