Obviously this was no moment in which to tell _her_ news. With patience and good temper Frankie waited, listened to the long and harrowing story of Mr. Blair and said what she could to heal her sister’s wound. She was really distressed about Minnie, she was so unlike her usual self; she was severe and cold. It would be nothing less than cruel to tell the poor soul of her own good-fortune. So she kept it to herself all the afternoon. With the superstition so natural to the happy, she fancied she was making her happiness more secure, earning it, in a way, by repressing and disciplining herself, pretending to take an interest in the affairs of the household, effacing herself and her important news. No one questioned her; they were absorbed in their own calamity. The old lady showed her a sort of diary of the expenses incurred by Mr. Blair, “to say nothing of the extra work.” She did crow over Minnie without mercy; she was vindicated, once more the infallible adult, competent to guide and rebuke youth. Minnie said very little; she had, however, a sinister air of having something up her sleeve. VI At last they were alone in the bedroom. Minnie had just locked the door when Frances sprang at her, caught her in a tight embrace, and whispered: “Minnie!” “What?” asked Minnie sharply. “Minnie!... _I’m engaged!_” Minnie gasped. “Why, Frankie!” she cried. “How on earth!...” “Oh, darling, I’ve been longing to tell you!... I’m so happy! If you only knew him, Minnie! You couldn’t help liking him. There’s something about him.... He’s so dear and boyish----” “Who is he?” Minnie asked. “He’s an Englishman. Very nice family, and all that. The nicest manners. And I consider him really handsome. Just the type we’ve always liked, Minnie.” It occurred to Frances that Minnie was not so enthusiastic as the occasion warranted. She felt a sudden fear that Minnie was jealous, felt herself neglected. “We’ve talked so much about you,” she hurried on. “You’re going to live with us after we’re married, and we’re going to do everything to make you happy. I told Lionel what a little brick you were, slaving away here, and he said he knew he’d love you. And, oh, Minnie, you’re _sure_ to love him!” Instead of answering Minnie got up and went to the window, stood there, staring out at the fields. “Minnie!” cried her sister, “Please, Minnie, darling, say you’re glad!” “I am,” said Minnie, keeping her back turned, “I’m very glad you’re so happy.” “Please you be happy too! I’m going to make Lionel write to you the instant I get back.” “Frankie,” said Minnie, “you’re not going back.” There was something unmistakably sinister in her voice now; Frances looked at her nervously. “What on earth do you mean?” she asked. “I mean just what I say. You’re not going back to New York. I’m going and you’ll have to stay here.” “But what ... Minnie, what nonsense! I have my job and Lionel....” “They’ll have to get on without you,” said Minnie.