Marion brought her work-basket and took her seat on the other side of the lamp. The evening’s mail was upon the table. “What do the letters bring to-night, Roger?” she inquired in the tone of one hungry for news. “Enough to stir us up for one while.” “Good. I am always ready to be stirred up. I have been stagnant all day.” “What a girl you are for wanting new sensations.” “Aren’t you always after them?” “No, they are always after me.” “Which one is after you now?” “Four.” “Four letters,” she said, eagerly. “There are more than four letters. But four have sensations.” “Do give me half a sensation.” “What do you think of John writing me that he is tired of medicine, it is too big a pull; he wants me to break it to father, and ask him to take him into the business.” “Father will be glad enough; but he will not like John to give up for such a reason.” “I imagine that girl is at the bottom of it. Girls are usually at the bottom of things. Her father will be willing for the marriage if John goes into business; he did not relish the idea of a struggling professional man.” “Lottie Kindare is not the girl to relish a long engagement, either. I am not surprised at _that_ sensation.” “You will not be surprised that Richard King has resigned and accepted a call to the Summer Avenue church.” “Oh, no; father said they were determined to have him.” “And he’s to be married, too.” “I cannot be surprised at that. That is not a sensation. I knew he was taken with Agnes Trembly that first time he met her here. She did look as sweet as a violet. She has grown like a flower this last year.” “Thanks to you. You have been a wonderful help to her. You took her into a new world.” “That is what I tried to do. She was ready for it. And to think our little country dressmaker will be the wife of the Summer Avenue minister.” “Oh, she’ll take to it. It is in her.” “Yes; she has tact.” “And natural ability.” “That is only—how many sensations?” “You saw that one letter was from Don. He is coming home next month. Really, this time.” “His wife has been dead—” “A year. Their married life was very short. All the happier because it was short. She has become a blessed memory to him. She was very sweet in the last month of her life. He loved her then as he had never loved her before. She told him that she did not love him when she married him; that she married him to get away from her uncle’s home. That last month was the one sweet drop in his bitter cup.” “Roger, you knew his story all the time.” “From the very first. He was not proud with me. He is so much like a woman that he had to tell somebody.” “That proves how little you know of women,” was the woman’s unspoken comment. “Now, for my last sensation. The First Church in Dunellen asks if I will accept a call.” “O, Roger,” with a mingling of sensations. “It is ‘O, Roger,’ I am torn in two.” “One Roger for Bensalem and one for Dunellen.”