difference what _any one_ says. I'm not going to Nice."

Once more in the Tower Rooms, the two sisters were together for the last
time. Leila was sent down on a hastily contrived errand. Aunt Frances,
arriving, was urged to go back and look after the guests. Only Aunt
Isabelle was allowed to remain. She could be of use, and the things
which were to be said she could not hear.

"Dearest," Constance's voice had a break in it, "dearest, I feel so
selfish--leaving you----"

Mary was kneeling on the floor, unfastening hooks. "Don't worry, Con.
I'll get along."

"But you'll have to bear--things--all alone. It isn't as if any one
knew, and you could talk it out."

"I'd rather die than speak of it," fiercely, "and I sha'n't write
anything to you about it, for Gordon will read your letters."

"Oh, Mary, he won't."

"Oh, yes, he will, and you'll want him to--you'll want to turn your heart
inside out for him to read, to say nothing of your letters."

She stood up and put both of her hands on her sister's shoulders. "But
you mustn't tell him, Con. No matter how much you want to, it's my
secret and Barry's--promise me, Con----"

"But, Mary, a wife can't."