a fate which had brought her too late into his life.

* * * * * *

Coming in, shivering and excited after her ride with Porter, Mary had
found evidence of Aunt Isabelle's solicitous care for her. Her fire
was burning brightly, the covers of her bed were turned down, her blue
dressing-gown and the little blue slippers were warming in front of the
blaze.

"No one ever did such things for me before," Mary said with
appreciation, as the gentle lady came in to kiss her niece good-night.
"Mother wasn't that kind. We all waited on her. And Susan Jenks is
too busy; it isn't right to keep her up. And anyway I've always been
more like a boy, taking care of myself. Constance was the one we
petted, Con and mother."

"I love to do it," Aunt Isabelle said, eagerly. "When I am at Frances'
there are so many servants, and I feel pushed out. There's nothing
that I can do for any one. Grace and Frances each have a maid. So I
live my own life, and sometimes it has been--lonely."

"You darling." Mary laid her cool young lips against the soft cheek.
"I'm dead lonely, too. That's why I wanted you."

Aunt Isabelle stood for a moment looking into the fire. "It has been
years since anybody wanted me," she said, finally.

There was no bitterness in her tone; she simply stated a fact. Yet in
her youth she had been the beauty of the family, and the toast of a