Mrs. Ferguson rose and began the adjustment of her wrap, while saying, "It
seems to me there is but one thing for you to do, Anne."

"What?" eagerly questioned Mrs. Durant.

"Indulge in a little judicious matchmaking," suggested the friend, as she
held out her hand.

"It's utterly useless, Josie. I've tried again and again, and every time
have only done harm."

"How?"

"She won't--she is so suspicious. Now, last winter, Weston Curtis was
sending her flowers and--and, oh, all that sort of thing, and so I invited
him to dinner several times, and always put him next Constance, and tried
to help him in other ways, until she--well, what do you think that girl
did?"

Mrs. Ferguson's interest led her to drop her outstretched hand. "Requested
you not to?" she asked.

"Not one word did she have the grace to say to me, Josie, but she wrote to
him, and asked him not to send her any more flowers! Just think of it."

"Then that's why he went to India."

"Yes. Of course if she had come and told me she didn't care for him, I
never would have kept on inviting him; but she is so secretive it is