"I'm sure he would." Grace stifled her desire to laugh as she took the fluffy white ball in her arms and stroked the tiny head. Then the amused look left her eyes. Perhaps Tom would never know of his little white namesake. He might never come back from South America. Suppose she were never to hear of him again. In the past she had, during moments of vexation toward him, almost wished it, but of a sudden it dawned upon her that she would give much to look into his honest gray eyes again and feel the clasp of his strong, friendly hand. "Miss Harlowe, shall we sing for you?" Anna May wisely noted that Miss Harlowe had begun to look "sad" again. "We learned such a pretty new song in school," put in Elizabeth. "Anna May can play it on the piano, too. Would you like us to sing it, Miss Harlowe?" "Yes, do sing it," urged Grace, but her thoughts were far from her obliging visitors. The children trotted over to the piano, and after a false start or two, Anna May played the opening bars of the song. Then the two childish voices rang out: "The year's at the spring And day's at the morn: Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!" Grace listened with a sinking heart. The joy of Browning's exquisite lines from "Pippa Passes" cut into her very soul. All was not right with _her_ world. Everything had gone wrong. She had chosen work instead of love, and what it brought her? She had believed that in rejecting Tom's love for her work she had definitely and forever solved her problem. Now it confronted her afresh. She understood too well the meaning of that strange fear which had obsessed her ever since her return home. Now she knew why the memory of Tom had so persistently haunted her, and why her friendly interest in his welfare had grown to be a heavy anxiety as to whether all was well with him. Wholly against her will she had done that which she had insisted she could never do. She had fallen in love with Tom. But her awakening had come too late. Tom had gone away to forget her. He would never know that she loved him, for she could never, never tell him. On the night of Jessica's wedding, when they had strolled up the walk to the house in the moonlight, he had said with an air of conviction, which then made her smile, that there would come a time when even work could not crowd out love. His prophecy had come true, but it meant nothing to either she or Tom now, for it had come true too late. CHAPTER XXI KATHLEEN WEST MAKES A PROMISE