“Please write me every evening, Barry,” she urged. “And if you don’t sleep well, take a glass of hot milk when you go to bed.” “All right, but how about you?” “Oh, I’ll let you hear from me,” she nodded absently; “--but I shall be rather anxious if you fail to write me every evening. You won’t neglect to do it, will you?” Finally he began to think her solicitude was mildly funny. “If I had a mother,” he said, “that’s about what she’d say to me. Who do you think is running this outfit, anyway, Eris?” “You, darling.” His masculine smile made this obvious. And the solemn directions he gave her about danger of catching cold in a country house, about changing shoes and stockings when she came indoors, and his warning concerning fried foods and sudden change of drinking water were specimens of psychological self-assertion which settled his real status. They kissed again as soberly as two children. She followed her Red Cap through the gates, not looking back. He turned again to a city desolate. * * * * * The journey proved tedious and hot. Her Pullman porter brought her a paper-bag for her new straw hat. He brought her a pillow, also; and luncheon later. She had plenty of reading matter provided by Annan, but it lay unopened on her lap; and Annan’s fruit, bon-bons, and flowers lay on the floor at her feet. All that sunny morning and early afternoon she lay listlessly in her chair, watching the celebrated and deadly monotonous river, content to rest, unstirring, unthinking, her grey eyes partly closed, the water a running glimmer between her fringing lashes. At East Summit she changed to the local. She recognised the conductor who took her ticket, but it was evident he did not know her, and she was content to let it go that way. Familiar farms sped into view, fled past, succeeded by remembered hills and brooks and woods. Reaping already was in progress on some farms. She noted, mechanically, the cattle as she passed through a dairy country. Mostly Holsteins. She saw a few Ayrshires with their Noah’s Ark horns; a herd or two of Guernseys--not to be compared to the Whitewater cattle as she remembered them. Summit Centre held the train until people finished getting on and off, and the last crate of raspberries was aboard. Summit and the great Sanitarium came next. It was here she had seen her first picture-folk in action. A little tightening of lip and heart--lest any atom of courage escape--then the train moved on. West Summit--a cross-roads, no more. And after a little while, Whitewater. She got out with her suitcase, her books, illustrated papers, bon-bons, fruit, and flowers. A number of people looked twice at her to be certain before speaking. Men looked oftener, shy of speaking. She returned greetings smilingly, exchanged commonplaces when necessary, aware but indifferent to the curiosity visible in every face.