that she appreciated her four millions there could be no doubt.

Strowbridge glanced about in search of Miss Williams. She was not in the
room. He sauntered out to the garden and saw her coming from the dairy.
She wore a black alpaca frock and a dark apron. Her face was weary and
sad.

"Could any one look more hopeless!" he thought. "The selfish old
curmudgeon, not to leave her independent! How her face can light up! She
looks almost young."

For she had seen him and hastened down the path. As he asked after her
health and said that he had been looking for her, she smiled and flushed
a little. They sat down on the steps and chatted until approaching
voices warned them that both pleasure and duty were over. She found
herself admitting that she had been bitterly disappointed to learn that
she was still a dependant, still chained to the gloomy mansion by the
lake. Yes; she should like to travel, to go to places she had read of in
the doctor's library--to live. She flushed with shame later when she
reflected on her confidences--she who was so proudly reticent. And to a
stranger! But she had never met any one so sympathetic.

Many were the comments of the visitors as they drove away.

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Mrs. Holt; "I do believe Marian Webster will
become stuck-up in her old age."

"Four millions are a good excuse," said Mrs. Meeker, with a sigh.

"That dress did not cost a cent under three hundred dollars," remarked a