Cornelia gasped and hesitated. Four days! _Only_ four days, and then farewell to England and English friends. She had not expected anything so speedy as this. During these summer months berths were engaged so long ahead that it was generally a most difficult thing to arrange for a speedy passage. She had been told of this over and over again; had known of her friends' difficulties in such matters; in the background of her mind had counted on a similar delay in her own case. In a week or a fortnight much might happen, but in four days! She stood battling with temptation, while Mary watched her with anxious eyes. No one but herself knew the purport of the message; no one need know if the answer were a refusal. Two or three scribbled words would give her a reprieve. ... Poor Cornelia! She realised afresh how easy it was to be brave in anticipation, how bitterly hard in actual fact. She was silent so long that Mary summoned up courage to ask a question-- "Is it bad news, miss?" Cornelia stared at her blankly for a moment, and valiantly forced a smile. "I guess there's two sides to it, as there are to most things in this world. My Poppar'll think it splendid, but you'll hate it badly enough. I'm going pretty quick, Mury! You won't have me but four days more!" The truth was out. She had burned her boats, and made retreat impossible. While Mary wept and lamented, Cornelia wrote the confirmatory wire, and sent it out to the waiting messenger. Then Mary returned to continue her lamentations. "I wish I could marry him, and be done with it! I can't seem to face staying on here with no one but her in the house, nagging at us all the day. I'll have to make another move!" she proclaimed dismally. In Mary's converse the singular pronoun, when masculine, always applied to her friend; when feminine, to her mistress. Cornelia had grasped this fact, and had therefore no difficulty in understanding her meaning. She sat down in a chair by the window, and stared at the maid with serious eyes. "Do you love him, Mury? Enough to marry him, and live beside him every one day to the end of your life? You think you would not get--_tired_?" Mary hesitated, unwilling to commit herself. "I wouldn't like to go so far as that," she announced judicially. "He aggravates me at times something cruel, but I'd sooner be aggravated by him nor anyone else. They talk a lot of rubbish about love, Miss Cornelia, but that's about the size of it when all's said and done. Some people suit you and others don't, and all the lovey-doveying in the world won't make 'em--" "Why, Mury, you are a philosopher! It's the dead truth, Mury, but I guess you needn't rub it in.--If you've made up your mind, why need you wait?"