Fanny bent down to look into Ellen’s pretty face. “Why, Ellen,” she said, “is it as bad as that? I didn’t suppose you really cared.” She clasped Ellen’s slender waist closer and kissed her fervently. Ellen coaxed two shining tears into sparkling prominence on her long lashes. “Oh, don’t mind me, Fan,” she murmured; “but I _can_ sympathize with you, dear. I know _exactly_ how you feel—and to think it’s the same girl!” Ellen giggled light-heartedly: “Anyway, she can’t marry both of them,” she finished. Fanny was looking away through the boles of the gnarled old trees, her face grave and preoccupied. “Perhaps I oughtn’t to have told you,” she said. “Why, you haven’t told me anything, yet,” protested Ellen. “You’re the funniest girl, Fan! I don’t believe you know how to—really confide in anybody. If you’d tell me more how you feel about _him_, you wouldn’t care half so much.” Fanny winced perceptibly. She could not bear to speak of the secret—which indeed appeared to be no secret—she strove daily to bury under a mountain of hard work, but which seemed possessed of mysterious powers of resurrection in the dark hours between sunset and sunrise. “But there’s nothing to—to talk about, Ellen,” she said; and in spite of herself her voice sounded cold, almost menacing. “Oh, very well, if you feel that way,” retorted Ellen. “But I can tell you one thing—or, I _might_ tell you something; but I guess I won’t.” “Please, Ellen,—if it’s about—” “Well, it is.” Fanny’s eyes pleaded hungrily with the naughty Ellen. “You haven’t finished your account of that interesting pleasure excursion of Jim’s and Miss Orr’s,” said Ellen. “Isn’t it lovely Jim can drive her car? Is he going to be her regular chauffeur? And do you get an occasional joy-ride?” “Of course not,” Fanny said indignantly. “Oh, Ellen, how can you go on like that! I’m sure you don’t care a bit about Jim or me, either.” “I do!” declared Ellen. “I love you with all my heart, Fan; but I don’t know about Jim. I—I might have—you know; but if he’s crazy over that Orr girl, what’s the use? There are other men, just as good-looking as Jim Dodge and not half so sarcastic and disagreeable.” “Jim can be disagreeable, if he wants to,” conceded Jim’s sister. “When I asked him where he was going with the car so early in the morning—you know he’s been bringing the car home nights so as to clean it and fix the engine, till she can get somebody—I was surprised to find him putting in oil and tightening up screws and things, when it was scarcely daylight; and I said so. He wouldn’t tell me a thing. ‘You just ’tend to your own knitting, Fan,’ was all he said; ‘perhaps you’ll know some day; and then again, perhaps you won’t.’” “And didn’t you find out?” cried Ellen, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “If that doesn’t sound exactly like Jim Dodge! But you said you heard him when he came in that night; didn’t he tell you anything then?—You don’t think they ran off to get married? Oh, Fan!”