way, make your own life! She--why, she's only an innocent little
girl; she's got dolls in the attic; we were teasing her about
turning up her hair last week!"

Again Anne was silent. It occurred to her to laugh at the
absurdity of these quick suspicions, but they had already seized
upon her with the curious tenacity of truth; already she had
accepted the fact that what yesterday would have been the
unbelievable maximum of humiliation and hurt was true to-day, and
less than the whole bitter truth!

She was not in love with Martin Lloyd; she was not as susceptible
as the much younger Cherry, and she had not had his urging to help
her to a quick surrender. But for the first time in her life she
had seen an absolutely suitable man, a man whose work, position,
looks, name, and character fitted her rather exacting standard,
and for the first time she had let herself think confidently of
being wooed and won. It was all so right, so dignified, so
fitting. She had been the light of her uncle's eyes, and the
little capable keeper of his house for years; she had been
reminding her own friends of this frequently during the past year
or two; now she was ready to step into a nest of her own.

Standing there in the doorway, she tasted the last bitter dregs of
the dream. It was all over. Anne was at the age that sets twenty-
five years as the definite boundary of spinsterhood. She would be
twenty-five in August.

Alix came in from her walk glowing, and full of a great discovery.