close-clipt lawns, there came the feeling that she was leaving her
cousin alone with the beloved dead.

"Now what--" began Brockton, in full-toned protest,--"what the--"

"That was the last thing Will Hayter did,"--Anna interrupted his
question. "And the first, so to speak. It was a fairly important
commission. Jessup, the Trya Drop liniment man, came from
Riverfield--he has a mammoth place outside now. When he began to coin
money faster than the mint, he gave lots of things to his
birthplace--which has always blushed for him. It's prouder that
Whittier once spent Sunday with one of its citizens than that Alonzo
Jessup is its son. Well, he gave the library and museum, and the
commission went to Will Hayter. The Hayters came from here two or
three generations ago. It was just before his death, and Millicent has
been abroad almost ever since. So she had never seen it."

Brockton gave a look of speechless chagrin at his hostess, which she
answered haughtily:

"My dear Mr. Brockton, after all, I never undertook to be a
marriage-broker!" Then she glanced at the chauffeur and forbore.

Meantime Millicent sat in one of the square exhibition-halls. The
sweet air, with the scent of hay from the farther country faintly
impregnating it, blew through the quiet. No one else shared the room
with her. The even light soothed her eyes, the stillness calmed the
fluttering apprehension in her breast which had presaged she knew not
what fresh anguish of loss. There were pictures on the walls--one or
two not despicable originals which Trya Drop Jessup had given, many