For they knew their winter conspiracies had failed. In vain was the trip to Baltimore; in vain was the week with grand opera in New York, and they both knew that the proposed trip to Europe never would occur. When the parents saw that look of triumphant joy in their daughter's face, when they saw how it lighted up her countenance like a flame when Tom Van Dorn was near or was on his way to her, they knew that from the secret recesses of her heart, from the depths of her being, love was springing. They knew that they could not uproot it, and they had no heart to try. For they accepted love as a fact of life, and felt that when once it has seeded and grown upon a heart, it is a part of that heart and only God's own wisdom and mercy may change the destiny that love has written upon the life in which love rests. So in the wisdom of the spring, the parents were mute and sad. There was no hint of anger in their sorrow. They realized that if she was wrong, and they were right, she needed them vastly more than if they were wrong and she was right, and so they tried to rejoice with her--not of course expressly and baldly, but in a thousand ways that lay about them, they made her as happy as they could. Their sweet acquiescence in what she knew was cutting the elders to the quick, gave the girl many an hour of poignant distress. Yet the purpose of her heart was not moved. The Satterthwaite in her was dominant. "Doctor," spoke the wife one morning as they sat alone over their breakfast, "I think--" She stopped, and he knew she was listening to the daughter, who was singing in an undertone in the garden. "Yes," he answered, "so do I. I think they have settled it." The man dropped his glance to the table before him, where his hands rested helplessly and cried, "Bedelia--I don't--I don't like it!" The color of her woe darkened Mrs. Nesbit's face as her features trembled for a second, before she controlled herself. "No, Jim--no--no! I don't--I'm afraid--afraid, of I don't know what!" "Of course, he's of excellent family--the very best!" the wife ventured. "And he's making money--and has lots of money from his people!" returned the father. "And he's a man among men!" added the mother. "Oh, yes--very much that,--and he's trying to be decent! Honestly, Bedelia, I believe the fellow's got a new grip on himself!" The Doctor's voice had regained its timbre; it was just a little hard, and it broke an instant later as he cried: "O Lord, Lord, mother--we can't fool ourselves; let's not try!" They looked into the garden, where the girl stood by the blooming lilacs with her arms filled with blossoms. At length the mother spoke, "What shall we do?" "What can we do?" the Doctor echoed. "What can any human creatures do in these cases! To interfere does no good! The thing is here. Why has it come? I don't know." He repeated the last sentence piteously, and went on gently: