Twice during the summer Donald had come to Thornwood, and on both occasions Miss Lady had been seized with an unreasoning fear, not only of him, but of herself. She had received him under the depressing chaperonage of Mr. Gooch and Mrs. Ivy, and she remembered now how Connie had taken possession of him on both occasions. But even if Connie's transitory affections were temporarily engaged, surely Donald was not encouraging her! A low whistle from the path below made her look down. It was Connie and she was stepping very cautiously as if trying to elude somebody. “Miss Lady!” she called softly. “Aren't you coming down again?” “No, I'm going to bed.” “Don't go yet. I'm coming up. I want to tell you something.” A moment later Connie opened the door, and closed it carefully behind her. “Is Bertie asleep?” “Yes.” “It's all over!” she announced tragically. “Gerald and I have had an awful quarrel, and he swears he'll never live to see another dawn.” “Of course he won't, I doubt if he has ever seen one. What's his trouble?” “Everything! He wants me to sit at his feet every hour in the day and adore him, and how can I adore a man who is afraid of a bumblebee, and can't drive, and sleeps with an umbrella over his head to shut out the light? I just simply can't stand him another minute!” “But, Connie, you were so crazy about him, you wouldn't listen to a word against him.” “I know it. I've been a perfect little idiot.” Connie was sobbing now on Miss Lady's shoulder. “The first time I saw him he'd just gotten home from Europe. He was playing at a concert. Everybody said he was a genius, and his eyes were so wonderful, and I had never seen anybody like him. The more he snubbed me the crazier I got about him. It wasn't until Cousin Don came back that I saw him as he really is.” Miss Lady patted the heaving shoulders, but said nothing. “And the very minute,” Connie continued tempestuously, “that I began to feel differently, Gerald began to like me. He has worked himself up to a terrible pitch, and doesn't want me out of his sight for a minute. I feel as if I'd been living on chocolate creams for three months!” “Connie!” Miss Lady took the tear-stained face between her hands. “I'm glad it isn't Gerald. I'm glad from the bottom of my heart, but are you sure it isn't somebody else?” Connie's blue eyes, never very steadfast, shifted uneasily, and Miss Lady went on earnestly: “Are you quite sure you aren't doing just what you did before, getting infatuated, and making yourself miserable over some one who doesn't care for you?” “But he does!” burst out Connie indignantly; “he cares for me more than for anybody in the world!” “How do you know?” “He's told me so! There--I oughtn't to have told! I swore I wouldn't until after the trial. But you won't breathe it, Miss Lady? Promise you won't even ask me to tell you anything more?” Miss Lady looked at her strangely.