to-night, Aunt Frances, because you go back to New York in the morning,
and I couldn't speak of it before to-night because I was afraid that some
hint of my plan would get to Constance and she would be troubled. She'll
learn it later, but I didn't want her to have it on her mind now. I want
to stay here. I've always lived here, and so has Barry--and while I
appreciate your plans for me to go to Nice, I don't think it would be
fair or right for me to leave Barry."

Barry, a little embarrassed to be brought into it, said, "Oh, you needn't
mind about me----"

"But I do mind." Mary had risen and was speaking earnestly. "I am sure
you must see it, Aunt Frances. If I went with you, Barry would be left
to--drift--and I shouldn't like to think of that. Mother wouldn't have
liked it, or father." Her voice touched an almost shrill note of protest.

Porter Bigelow, sitting unobtrusively in the background, was moved by her
earnestness. "There's something back of it," his quick mind told him;
"she knows about--Barry----"

But Barry, too, was on his feet. "Oh, look here, Mary," he was
expostulating, "I'm not going to have you stay at home and miss a winter
of good times, just because I'll have to eat a few meals in a
boarding-house. And I sha'n't have to eat many. When I get starved for
home cooking, I'll hunt up my friends. You'll take me in now and then,
for Sunday dinner, won't you, General?--Leila says you will; and it isn't
as if you were never coming back--Mary."

"If we close the house now," Mary said, "it will mean that it won't be
opened again. You all know that." Her accusing glance rested on Aunt