"Dare I tell her?" thought Mrs. Home. Aloud she said, "The conditions are these:--I must tell you a story, a story about myself--and--and others." "And I love stories, especially when they happen in real life." "Miss Harman, don't tempt me. I want to tell you, but I had better not; you had better let me go away. You are very happy now, are you not?" "What a strange woman you are, Mrs. Home! Yes, I am happy." "You won't like my story. It is possible you may not be happy after you have heard it." "That is a very unlikely possibility. How can the tale of an absolute stranger affect my happiness?" These words were said eagerly--a little bit defiantly. But Mrs. Home's face had now become so grave, and there was such an eager, almost frightened look in her eyes, that her companion's too changed. After all what was this tale? A myth, doubtless; but she would hear it now. "I accept the risk of my happiness being imperiled," she said. "I choose to hear the tale--I am ready." "But I may not choose to tell," said the other Charlotte. "I would make you. You have begun--begun in such a way that you _must_ finish." "Is that so?" replied Mrs. Home. The light was growing more and more eager in her eyes. She said to herself, "The die is cast." There rose up before her a vision of her children--of her husband's thin face. Her voice trembled. "Miss Harman--I will speak--you won't interrupt me?" "No, but lunch is on the table. You must eat something first." "I am afraid I cannot with that story in prospect; to eat would choke me!" "What a queer tale it must be!" said the other Charlotte. "Well, so be it." She seated herself in a chair at a little distance from Mrs. Home, fixed her gaze on the glowing fire, and said, "I am ready. I won't interrupt you." The poor Charlotte, too, looked at the fire. During the entire telling of the tale neither of these young women glanced at the other.