‘But I would rather walk; take Harold, if he is so tired,’ Jerrie said, in a tone she did not quite intend.

‘Oh, Jerrie,’ Harold exclaimed, in a low, pained voice, ’I am not tired, let us both walk,’ and going to Maude he said something to her which Jerrie could not hear, except the words, ‘Don’t you think it better so?’

‘Of course I do; it was stupid in me not to see it before,’ was Maude’s reply, as she laid her hand on Harold’s arm where it rested a moment, while she said her good-byes.

And Jerrie saw the little, ungloved hand touching Harold so familiarly, and thought how small, and white and thin it was, with the full, blue veins showing so distinctly upon it, and then she looked more closely at Maude herself, and saw with a pang how tired and sick she looked in spite of the bright color in her cheeks which came and went so fast.  There was a pallor about her lips and about her nose, while her ears were almost transparent, and her neck was so small that Jerrie felt she could have clasped it with one hand.

‘Maude,’ she cried, pressing close to the young girl, as Harold stepped aside, ’Maude, are you sick?  You are so pale everywhere except your cheeks, which are like roses.’

‘No, no,’ Maude answered quickly, as if she did not like the question.  ’Not sick a bit, only a little tired.  We have been at work real hard, Hal and I; but he will tell you about it, and now good-bye again, for I must go, I shall be round in the morning.  Good-bye.  Oh, Tom, I forgot!  We have company to dinner to-night—­a Mr. and Mrs. Hart, who are friends of Mrs. Atherton, and have just returned from Germany, bringing Fred’s sister, Marian, with them.  She has been abroad at school for years, and is very nice.  I ought to have told Fred and Nina.  How stupid in me!  But they will find their invitations when they get home.  Now hop in, quick, and don’t tear my flounces.  You are so awkward.’

‘I suppose Hal never tears your flounces,’ Tom said, as he took his seat beside his sister, and gave Jerrie a look which sent the blood in great waves to her face and neck, for it seemed to imply that he understood the case and supposed she did too.

The St. Claire carriage had driven away with Nina and Dick, and Fred, and the carriage from Le Bateau had gone, too, when at last Jerrie and Harold started down the road and along the highway to the gate through which the strange woman had once passed with the baby Jerrie in her arms.  The baby was a young woman now, tall and erect, with her head set high as she walked silently by Harold’s side, until the gate was reached and they passed into the shaded lane, where they were hidden from the sight of anyone upon the main road leading to the park house.  Then stopping suddenly, she faced squarely toward her companion, and said: 

’Why didn’t you come to commencement?  Tom Tracy said you were shingling a roof, and Billy Peterkin said Maude was helping you.’