Juliet had pleaded earnestly with Doctor Jack to save Allison’s hand.  “If you don’t,” she said, with uplifted eyes, “I’ll be miserable all the rest of my life.”

“Bless your little heart,” the Doctor had answered, kindly; “I’d do ’most anything to keep you from being miserable, even the impossible, which happens to be my specialty.”

She did not quite understand, but sent a burnt offering to the Doctor, in the shape of a chocolate cake.  He had returned the compliment by sending her the biggest box of candy she had ever seen, and, as it arrived about noon, she and Romeo had feasted upon it until they could eat no more, and had been uncomfortably ill for two days.  Romeo had attributed their misfortune to the candy itself, but Juliet believed that their constitutions had been weakened by their penitential fare, and, as soon as she was able, proved her point by finishing the last sweet morsel without painful results.

The Summer waned and tints of palest gold appeared here and there upon the maples.  The warm wind had the indefinable freshness of the Autumn sea, blown far inland at dawn.  Allison became impatient and restless, the Colonel went off alone for long, moody walks; even Doctor Jack began to show the effects of the long strain.

Only Rose was serene.  Fortunately, no one guessed the tumult that lay beneath her outward calm.  Her manner toward Allison was, if anything, more impersonal than ever, though she failed in no thoughtful kindness, no possible consideration.  He accepted it all as a matter of course, but began to wish, vaguely, for something more.

He forebore to remind her of their strange relation, and could not allude to the night he had kissed her, while his fiancee stood near by.  Yet, late one afternoon, when she had excused herself a little earlier than usual, he called her back.

“Rose?”

“Yes?” She returned quickly and stood before him, just out of his reach.  “What is it?  What can I do for you?”

The tone was kind but impersonal, as always.  “Nothing,” he sighed, turning his face away.

That night she pondered long.  What could Allison want that she had not given?  The blood surged into her heart for an instant, then retreated.  “Nonsense,” she said to herself in tremulous anger.  “It’s impossible!”

Afterward it seemed continually to happen that she was alone with Allison when the time came to say good-night and drive home, or walk, escorted by Colonel Kent or the Doctor.  By common consent, they seemed to make excuses to leave the room as the hour of departure approached, and she always found it easier when someone was there.

Again, when she had made her adieux and had reached the door leading into the hall, Allison called her back.

“Yes?” “Couldn’t you—­just once, you know—­for good-night?” he asked, with difficulty.

His face made his meaning clear.  Rose bent, kissed him tenderly upon the forehead, and quickly left the room.  Her heart was beating so hard that she did not know she stumbled upon the threshold, nor did she hear his low:  “Thank you—­dear.”