"She'll know enough one of these days," said Milford. "Perhaps too much," he added. "Well, I suppose we must wait," she replied. "And I hope you'll not think my curiosity idle. All interest is curiosity, more or less, but all interest is not idle. So you don't know how long you'll remain here?" "I haven't staked off the time." She sighed. She said that the summer had been a disappointment. She had not been happy since Gunhild left her. Her going away must have been a wild notion, caught from Milford. There was no necessity for teaching, till at least she had studied longer herself. She had not been disappointed in her development, not wholly. Her outcome as a woman had more than offset her failure as an artist. And she found that it was the woman whom she had liked, rather than the artist. With her new care it was different. She was all musician, a genius with whims and caprices, a moody companion, not capable of inspiring friendship. She had taken her as a duty, a duty which she felt that she owed to the musical world. "I am going home to-morrow," she said, when Milford helped her down at Mrs. Stuvic's gate. "I don't like these new people. They are coarse." "To-morrow I have business across the country," said Milford. "I may not see you again." "I am sorry. Will you do me a favor? When you write to Gunhild tell her that she must come back to me. I need her." "I will tell her that you have said so." "That won't be much of a favor, but tell her. And I want you to promise one thing--that you will come to see me, when you are married." "I'll promise that gladly, and keep it. I am very fond of you." "Are you?" "Yes. You said you would like to be the mother of such a son. That was the kindest thing ever said to me. It makes you my mother." "Oh," she said, falteringly, as he took her hand. "You will understand me better in the time to come. Good-bye." CHAPTER XXIV. DREAMED OF THE ANGELUS. Gunhild wrote that she could not spare the money to come out, and to Milford the summer fell flat and lay spiritless on the ground. He begged her to let him bear the expense, and for this she scolded him. But she enlivened him with a suggestion. Near the first of October she would visit her uncle in the city. "It will make me glad to have you come to see me then," she said. "And I shall feel that you have held the summer and brought it with you. Mrs. Goodwin wrote to me as soon as she came home. She said much about you, and I really think she likes you deeply. I have been astonished at her. I did not think that she would care for me more when her house I left, but she does. She is a good woman. Oh, you remember the Miss Swartz who was with her. Well, she wanted to keep company with a fiddler in a variety show, and Mrs. Goodwin objected, and that was not the end of it. The girl went out at night late and married the fiddler, and Mrs. Goodwin has seen her no more."