“No; Mr. Keith is not like other men.  He does not have to wait and see what others think and say before he forms an opinion.  I am so tired of hearing people say what they think others think.  Even Mr. Rimmon, at church, says what he thinks his congregation likes—­just as when he meets them he flatters them and tells them what dear ladies they are, and how well they look, and how good their wine is.  Why can’t people think for themselves?”

“Well, on my word, Lois, you appear to be thinking for yourself!  And you also appear to think very highly of Mr. Keith,” said Mrs. Wentworth.

“I do.  I have known Mr. Keith all my life,” said the girl, gravely.  “He is associated in my mind with all that I loved.”

“There, I did not mean to call up sorrowful thoughts,” said Mrs. Wentworth.  “I wanted you to have a good time.”

Next day Mr. Keith gave himself the pleasure of calling promptly at Mrs. Norman’s.  He remembered the time when he had waited a day or two before calling on Miss Huntington and had found her gone, with its train of misunderstandings.  So he had no intention of repeating the error.  In Love as in War, Success attends Celerity.

Miss Huntington was not at home, the servant said in answer to Keith’s inquiries for the ladies; she had taken the children out to see Madam Wentworth.  But Mrs. Wentworth would see Mr. Keith.

Mrs. Wentworth was more than usually cordial.  She was undoubtedly more nervous than she used to be.  She soon spoke of Norman, and for a moment grew quite excited.

“I know what people say about me,” she exclaimed.  “I know they say I ought to have borne everything and have gone on smiling and pretending I was happy even when I had the proof that he was—­was—­that he no longer cared for me, or for my—­my happiness.  But I could not—­I was not constituted so.  And if I have refused to submit to it I had good reason.”

“Mrs. Wentworth,” said Keith, “will you please tell me what you are talking about?”

“You will hear about it soon enough,” she said, with a bitter laugh.  “All you have to do is to call on Mrs. Nailor or Mrs. Any-one-else for five minutes.”

“If I hear what I understand you to believe, that Norman cares for some one else, I shall not believe it.”

She laughed bitterly.

“Oh, you and Norman always swore by each other.  I guess that you are no better than other men.”

“We are, at least, better than some other men,” said Keith, “and Norman is better than most other men.”

She simply shrugged her shoulders and drifted into a reverie.  It was evidently not a pleasant one.

Keith rose to go.  And a half-hour later he quite casually called at old Mrs. Wentworth’s, where he found the children having a romp.  Miss Huntington looked as sweet as a rose, and Keith thought, or at least hoped, she was pleased to see him.