"Let us hope," said he, "that they will prove all you desire. It would
break my heart, Jane, to see Elmhurst turned into a hospital."

Phibbs arrived with the spectacles, and Jane Merrick read her letter,
her face growing harder with every line she mastered. Then she
crumpled the paper fiercely in both hands, and a moment later smoothed
it out carefully and replaced it in the envelope.

Silas Watson had watched her silently.

"Well," said he, at last, "another acceptance?"

"No, a refusal," said she. "A refusal from the Irishman's daughter,
Patricia Doyle."

"That's bad," he remarked, but in a tone of relief.

"I don't see it in that light at all," replied Miss Jane. "The girl
is right. It's the sort of letter I'd have written myself, under the
circumstances. I'll write again, Silas, and humble myself, and try to
get her to come."

"You surprise me!" said the lawyer.

"I surprise myself," retorted the old woman, "but I mean to know more
of this Patricia Doyle. Perhaps I've found a gold mine, Silas Watson!"