"Yes--happier than I have been for a year." She smiled
mysteriously. "I've had good news." She turned abruptly,
looked him in the eyes with that frank, clear expression--his
favorite among his memory-pictures of her had it. "There's one
thing that worries me--it's never off my mind longer than a few
minutes. And when I'm blue, as I usually am on rainy days, it
makes me--horribly uncomfortable. I've often almost asked your
advice about it."

"If you'd be sorry afterward that you told me," said he, "I
hope you won't. But if I can help you, you know how glad I'd
be."

"It's no use to tell Olivia," Pauline went on. "She's
bitterly prejudiced. But ever since the first month I knew you,
I felt that I could trust you, that you were a real friend. And
you're so fair in judging people and things."

His eyes twinkled.

"I'm afraid I'd tilt the scales--just a little--where you were
concerned."

"Oh, I want you to do that," she answered with a smile. "Last
fall I did something--well, it was foolish, though I wouldn't
admit that to any one else. I was carried away by an impulse.
Not that I regret. In the only really important way, I wouldn't
undo it if I could--I think." Those last two words came
absently, as if she were debating the matter with herself.