For Cally was not to be of the Works party this afternoon.  It had stood as an ideal opportunity for the two men’s better acquaintance; her presence, she had thought, might only mar it.  Now, gazing after her father’s departing back, she rather wished she had decided otherwise....

She searched and found So-and-So’s “Auction Bridge.”  A time passed:  and she was in the big bedroom, making her peace with mamma.

She had supposed the thing to do was simply to go on, as nearly as she could, as if nothing had happened.  But when she saw her mother’s face, marked as from an illness, she remembered nothing of any plan.  She was on her knees by the morris-chair, her arms flung about the strong little figure whose dearest hopes she had spoiled:  begging mamma to forgive her for being such a disappointment and failure as a daughter, for seeming so ungrateful and unreasonable, saying that she would do anything, anything to make up for all that had gone amiss.

And mamma, already somewhat propitiated, it had seemed, by the return of the money, said presently, with some emotion of her own, that she would try to regard it as a closed episode.  She, with her tireless energies, was not one to cry forever over milk hopelessly spilt.  But neither was she one to temper justice with too much mercy, and her final word on the matter was a final one, indeed:  “But of course you can never make it up to me, Carlisle, never....”  And Carlisle, rising, knew even better than mamma how sad and true this was.  There was only one thing that her mother had wanted of her, and that thing she had not done.  Life, even on this day of song and mist, was seen to be inexorable....

She was in her room for a little while, and it came to be eleven o’clock:  five hours and a half....  While she unwisely lingered there, dreamily irresolute between a walk and a drive, she was summoned to the drawing-room by a call from Mattie Allen, not seen of her since the dinner at the New Arlington last week.  Mattie stayed a long time; and before she went—­of course—­other callers had drifted in....

“Are you going to Sue Louise’s bridge to-night?” demanded Mattie, continuing to inspect her with evident curiosity.

“Oh, Mats!  I forgot all about it—­horrors!...  And I’ve made another engagement!”

“That means you don’t want to go, Cally.  You know it does....”

Cally confessed to a certain want of enthusiasm; asked her friend if she, too, didn’t weary of their little merry-go-round at times.  Nothing of the sort, however, would be admitted by Mats, who was now known to be having a really serious try for J. Forsythe Avery.

“Dear,” she went on before long, “do you know you seem to be changing entirely lately?  And toward me specially....  I—­I’ve wondered a great deal if I’ve done something to offend you.”

Cally embraced her; spoke with reassuring tenderness.  And there was compunction in these endearments.  She and Mattie had been intimate friends as long as she could remember; and now it had come over her suddenly that it would nevermore be with them quite as it had been before.  Must life be this way, that greetings over there would always mean farewells here?...