"I don't think it will rain before morning," she said, observing Sidney's glance at the clouds. "Young Mr. Gordon does seem real friendly," she went on tentatively. "Perhaps he will come again--sometime." "He's there now--twice to-day!" said Sidney, triumphantly. With the training of her profession she had awaited the most impressive moment for this crowning announcement. Miss Judy was stunned; there was a tremor of alarm in her voice when she spoke, after a momentary silence of frightened bewilderment. "Do you mean to say, Sidney, that Mr. Gordon is at your house--with Doris now--to-night?" Sidney nodded coolly, trying not to show the complacency which she could not help feeling. "Yes. I saw him in the garden with Doris as I came down the big road--on the other side." Miss Judy tried to think for a space. Then she said, delicately but uneasily, "Are you quite sure that Uncle Watty and the children will--will know how to do the honors?" "Well, they can't do any harm! I've taken care that they couldn't. They're not there--not a blessed one of 'em! The children are over at the doctor's. Uncle Watty is down at the store, and he'll stay there, too, till bedtime--open or shut!" As Sidney thus told what she had done, she tossed her yellow head, giving free rein to what she honestly felt to be just pride. Miss Judy sprang up with a smothered scream. "Sidney _Wendall_! _Do_ you mean to tell me that you have left Doris--that poor, poor child--to receive a perfect stranger entirely alone? Oh--oh--we must run to her. What will he think now? The other was bad enough, but this can never be made right! Run!" She sank back in the chair, pressing her hand to her heart, which was fluttering, as it always fluttered under agitation, like some winged thing trying to escape, as perhaps it was. "You go--don't wait for me," she gasped. "I'll--explain and--and--beg your pardon--when I get my breath. Go--go--_go_!"