life of a frontiersman on an incredibly huge farm. She had not seen him
for many years, but her heart warmed at the thought of seeing her only
relative again. He was much older. Yes, Eddie must now be about forty.
Oh, all of that. She, herself, was almost twenty-eight. But she wouldn't
go to him for several years. He had done one thing which seemed to her
quite dreadful. He had made an unfortunate marriage with a woman far
beneath him socially. Men were so weak! Because they fancied themselves
lonely, or even captivated by a pretty face, they were willing to make
impossible marriages. Women were different. Still, she had the grace to
blush when she recalled the episode of the doctor's assistant.

Yes, she would go out to Eddie after his wife had had the chance to form
herself a little more. Living with a husband so much superior was bound
to have its influence. And she must have some really good qualities at
bottom or she could never have attracted him. There was nothing vicious
about her brother. She must write him of Miss Wickham's death. They were
neither of them fond of writing. It must be nearly a year since she had
heard from him last. And then, it was so difficult to keep up a
correspondence when people had no mutual friends and so little in
common.

A glance at her watch told her that it must be nearly time for the
London Wickhams to arrive. It would be better not to see them, unless
they sent for her, until after they had returned from the cemetery. They
were just the sort of people to think that she was forgetting her
position if she had the manner of playing hostess by receiving them.
Thank goodness! she would probably never see them again after to-day.

With a word to Kate that she would presently have her luncheon in her
room and then rest for a few hours until the people returned after the