what lay beyond. Then at the thought of Miss Barbara's disappointment,
second only to her own, she cried again. And again for her mother's
disappointment and the girls', and her mortification when it should be
discussed in every house in Westbrooke. She sobbed so long that finally
she fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion.

Miss Barbara, coming in later in the twilight, found her lying on the
bed, with a feverish flush on her cheeks. The grieved, childlike droop
of the sensitive little mouth told its own story, and Miss Barbara set
her lips sternly together.

"I wish Daisy Avery could see her now," she muttered, savagely; "it's
cruel to disappoint any one so. I don't care what the cause is, it's
wickedly cruel to be so careless."

[Illustration: "'I WISH DAISY AVERY COULD SEE HER NOW,' SHE MUTTERED,
SAVAGELY."]

Four days later Judith went home. In the course of a week a letter
was forwarded to her from Packertown. It was from Marguerite:

"How can you ever forgive my abominable carelessness? I intended to
answer immediately after our guests left, but Mr. Avery and I were
invited to a little house-party in the country, and I thought a few
days wouldn't make any difference to you. Then, after our return,
so many things interfered and the days slipped by so fast, that the
month was nearly gone before I realized it. But then I always have
been such a poor correspondent.

"I hope that it hasn't inconvenienced you any, and that you have