"Desire," she said,--she never put the "Miss" on, she had been too
familiar all her life with those she was familiar with at all,--"the
fact is I've got something to say, and I came up to say it."

She drew near--came close,--and laid her great, honest, faithful
hand on the back of Desire Ledwith's chair, put the other behind her
own waist, and leaned over her.

"You see, I'm a woman, Desire, and I know. You needn't mind me, I'm
an old maid; that's the way I do know. Married folks, even mothers,
half the time forget. But old maids never forget. I've had my
stumps, and I can see that you've got yourn. But you'd ought to
understand; and there's nobody, from one mistake and another, that's
going to tell you. It's awful hard; it will be a trouble to you at
first,"--and Luclarion's strong voice trembled tenderly with the
sympathy that her old maid heart had in it, after, and because of,
all those years,--"but Kenneth Kincaid"--

"_What_!" cried Desire, starting to her feet, with a sudden
indignation.

"Is going to be married to Rosamond Holabird," said Luclarion, very
gently. "There! you ought to know, and I have told you."

"What makes you suppose that that would be a trouble to me?" blazed
Desire. "How do you dare"--

"I didn't dare; but I had to!" sobbed Luclarion, putting her arms
right round her.