“Oh, certainly.”  Bonnell smiled.  “Wednesday evening meetings and all now, Eloise.  Haven’t you attended yet?”

“No, I’ve only just learned.  I’ve only just seen.  I’m only beginning to see, Nat.  Your mother was healed.  Oh, it is true, isn’t it!  It’s so wonderful to find that you, you, know more about it than I do, when I supposed you would scorn it.  I can’t help expecting to wake up.”

“That is just what you will do,” returned Bonnell.  “You will waken—­to a thousand things.  So your mother objects.”

“Poor little mother,” returned Eloise, looking down with sudden sadness.

“My mother wants you and yours to make us a long visit at View Point this summer.”

The girl’s lovely eyes raised hopefully.  “The best thing that could happen,” she exclaimed.

“I think so,” responded her companion.

When Mr. Evringham returned from golf that afternoon, only his daughter-in-law was in sight.  She inclined her head toward him with the air of a Lady Macbeth.

“Have you seen anything of the girls?” she asked as he approached her.

“Nothing.  Where are they?”

She slowly shrugged her shoulders.  “I’m the last one to ask.  They wouldn’t think of telling me,” she returned.

“What’s up now?” thought Mr. Evringham.  “You don’t look well, Madge,” he said aloud.

Once she would have welcomed the evidence of solicitude.  Now nothing mattered.

“I don’t feel well,” she replied, “and I can’t even call the physician I prefer.”

Mr. Evringham stared down at her for a silent minute, and light broke upon him.

“Is it all off with Ballard?” he asked bluntly.

“Yes; and that’s what you have done, father, by allowing that child Jewel to come here.”

Mr. Evringham bit his lip.  This amused him.

“Eloise has mounted the new hobby, and is riding for dear life away from common sense, away from everything that promised such happiness.”

“Do you mean Christian Science?”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s a strange thing, Madge.  Do you know, it captures people with good heads.”  Mr. Evringham seated himself near his daughter’s chair.  “I came out on the train with my friend Reeves.  He was talking about young Bonnell, of whom you spoke last night.  Said his mother was cured when the doctors couldn’t do anything.  You know her, eh?”

“As well as if she were my own flesh and blood.”

“Is it a fact, what they say?”

“She was considered incurable.  I know nothing about the rest of it.  Nat was telling me yesterday.  Now he is probably infatuated also, and, sooner or later, Eloise is sure to meet him.”

“H’m, h’m.  An old flame, you said,” remarked Mr. Evringham.  “Indeed!  In—­deed!  I trust for your sake, Madge, that his is not objectionable to you.”

“He is,” snapped Mrs. Evringham.  “A poor fellow, with his way to make in the world.  He’s been out of college a couple of years and hasn’t done anything worth speaking of yet.”