she could to help, and she hoped she could still be of some use."

"Well, she has been, hasn't she?"

The girl shook her head.

"That's the worst of it. We haven't made her think she was. She stayed
at Uncle Fred's for a while, and then he sent her to Uncle Edgar's.
Something must have been wrong there, for she asked mother two months
ago if she might come to us."

"Well, I'm sure you've been--good to her."

"But we haven't!" cried the girl. "Mother meant all right, I know, but
she didn't think. And I've been--horrid. Aunt Jane tried to show her
interest in my wedding plans, but I only laughed at her and said she
wouldn't understand. We've pushed her aside, always,--we've never made
her one of us; and--we've always made her feel her dependence."

"But you'll do differently now, dear,--now that you understand."

Again the girl shook her head.

"We can't," she moaned. "It's too late. I had a letter from mother last
night. Aunt Jane's sick--awfully sick. Mother said I might expect to--to
hear of the end any day."

"But there's some time left--a little!"--his voice broke and choked into
silence. Suddenly he made a quick movement, and the car beneath them
leaped forward like a charger that feels the prick of the spur.