Bee laughed merrily at the idea of Josey’s casting her eyes upon poor, shriveled, dyspeptic Harry Hayden, whom, to do her justice, she did pity, for the cold baths he was compelled to take every morning, and the rigid diet on which he was kept. That he lacked brain force, as his wife asserted, she did not doubt, or he would never have submitted as meekly as he did, with the stereotyped phrase, “Julie knows best,” but she pitied him just the same, and occasionally conveyed to him on the sly hot cups of beef-tea or mutton-broth, and once coaxed him to drink lager-beer, but Mrs. Julia found it out by the culprit’s breath, and disliked Josey worse than ever. It was now five weeks since Beatrice first came to Holburton, and as Mrs. Morton did not seem to improve, she was thinking of finding another place for her, when Josephine came to her one morning as she was sitting alone with her work, and, taking a seat beside her, began to talk of herself and the life she was leading. “I am of no use to any one,” she said, “for both mother and Agnes are afraid I shall soil my hands or burn my face. I am tired of this kind of life. I want to see the world and have larger experiences; and fortunately I have an opportunity to do so. When I was at the sea-side I met a widow-lady, a Mrs. Arnold, who is rich and an invalid. She was kind enough to pretend to like me, and I think she did, for I have received a letter from her, asking me to go as a companion with her to Europe, she defraying all the expenses, of course, and leaving me nothing to do but to make myself agreeable to her, and enjoy what I see. Now, would you go or not?” “I think I would,” Beatrice replied, for it seemed to her as if this going to Europe would somehow be the severing link between Everard and Josephine. Something would happen to bring on the crisis which must come sooner or later. “I would go, most certainly,” she said again, and then she asked some questions concerning Mrs. Arnold, whose letter Josey showed to her. Evidently she was not a woman of great discernment or culture, but she was sincere in her wish to take Josephine abroad, and disposed to be very generous with her. “She will be gone a year at least, and possibly two, and I can see so much in that time, I am quite dizzy with anticipation,” Josephine said, while Beatrice entered heart and soul into the project, which was soon known to the entire household. That night young Gerard from Albany called on Josephine as usual, and hearing of the proposed trip to Europe offered himself to her, and cried like a baby when she gave him her final “no,” and made him understand that she meant it. But she held his hand in hers, and there was one of her tears on his boyish face when at last he said good-night and walked away, somewhat soothed and comforted with the thought that he was to be her friend of friends, the one held as the dearest and best in her memory when she was far over the sea.