She didn't go on the piazza; she remembered, with a sense of shame, the last time she had crossed that threshold, saying it should be the last time. What a tempest of jealousy and anger had been in her heart! Oh, the folly of it (not to say the sin of it). How she had been conquered by those two women (not to say the enemy of souls). She could see it all so clearly now. Every word and look and gesture of Mr. Andrews took a different meaning, now she was in her senses. That dinner had been his last hope, his last attempt to conciliate her. She had repulsed him more sharply than ever that night, stung as she was by the insults of her two rivals. After that, he had made his plans to go away and end the matter. Miss Flora might thank her for "dear Europe," this time. But poor little Jay, what had he to thank her for? Ah! that gave her heart a pinch to think of. Poor little Jay might set down as the sum of his gratitude to her, a miserable youth, a mercenary rule at home, deceit and worldliness, low aims, and selfishness, that would drive him shelterless into the world to find his pleasure there. For Missy never doubted that Flora would gain her end. She knew Mr. Andrews was not clever enough to stand out very long. "He's just the sort of man," she said to herself, "to be married by somebody who is persistent. He doesn't know women well enough to stand out against them. He will give in for the children's sake, he won't care for his own. And he will spend a life of homeless wretchedness, silent and stolid, protecting the woman who is cheating him, laboring for the children who will disappoint him. Ah! my little Jay, forgive me," she cried, stooping and picking up a broken whip of his that lay in the grass beside the path. Everybody makes mistakes, but it isn't often given to any one to make such a wholesale one as this. We must be charitable to Missy if she was bitter and gloomy that dark morning. She wandered about the paths for a little while longer, then, picking a few artemesias that grew close up by the house, she turned to go away. At the gate she met a boy with a yellow envelope in his hand. He was just going to her house, he explained, presenting the envelope. It was a telegram, and Missy opened it hastily. "It is all right," she said, giving him the money, and putting the paper in her pocket. We are apt to be very selfish when we are miserable, and Missy's first thought on reading the message was a selfish one. The message was from her brother. He had just landed, and would be at home that evening. She did not think of the joy it would be to her mother, of the joy it might have been to her; she only thought, "Thank Heaven, this will give me something else to think of for a little while." She was quite bent upon curing herself, even at this early date; but with the supreme selfishness of great disappointment, she thought of nothing but as it influenced her trouble. CHAPTER XXV. AMICE ASCENDE SUPERIUS.