said she'd stop for me."

At the gate puffed the big car, a person in livery rang the bell, and
Mrs. Weatherstone kissed her friend warmly, and passed like a heavy
shadow along the rose-bordered path. In the tonneau sat a massive old
lady in sober silks, with a set impassive countenance, severely correct
in every feature, and young Mat Weatherstone, sulky because he had to
ride with his grandmother now and then. He was not a nice young man.

*

Diantha found it hard to write her home letters, especially to Ross.
She could not tell them of all she meant to do; and she must tell them
of this part of it, at once, before they heard of it through others.

To leave home--to leave school-teaching, to leave love--and "go out to
service" did not seem a step up, that was certain. But she set her red
lips tighter and wrote the letters; wrote them and mailed them that
evening, tired though she was.

Three letters came back quickly.

Her mother's answer was affectionate, patient, and trustful, though not
understanding.

Her sister's was as unpleasant as she had expected.

"The _idea!_" wrote Mrs. Susie. "A girl with a good home to live in and
another to look forward to--and able to earn money _respectably!_ to go
out and work like a common Irish girl! Why Gerald is so mortified he