Mr. Jeffreys saw them off on a cold twenty-sixth of December. That same evening Berkley arrived to take possession of the room Miss Ri had told Phebe to make ready for him. Phebe, with her head tied up in a new kerchief, and with an immaculate expanse of white apron, was ready to receive him, to show him upstairs and to wait upon him hand and foot. She adored Linda, had great respect for Miss Ri, but "a rale young gem'man" awakened all the love of service within her, and if he had done the justice she expected to the meal she served, he would probably have died of indigestion that very night, and the close of this chapter would mark the end of this tale. However, whether from lack of appetite or for other reasons, he ate with discretion, and then retired to the sitting-room, where he worked over a budget of papers till near midnight. With candle in hand, he then went upstairs. As he passed through the upper hall he perceived the door of a room open. He tip-toed up to it, stood for a moment on the sill, then entered softly and with the expression of one approaching a sanctuary. Phebe had removed all suggestion of disorder, but she could not remove the subtle reminders of a girlish presence, which were suggested by the pictures on the wall, the books on the table, by the little slippers peeping from under the foot of the lounge. An end of ribbon fluttered out from behind the door of the small wash-closet, which stood partly open. Berkley gently lifted the satiny end and laid it against his cheek, then to his lips. After this, he tip-toed out again, closing the door softly behind him. He had this once entered a holy of holies, but he must not be tempted again. Meanwhile Miss Ri and Linda were settled at their hotel and were making plans for the next day. "I suppose I must go to see Grace," remarked Linda. "Oh, not right away," was Miss Ri's reply. "Wait till the memory of that scarf becomes a little more vague, then you will be able to thank her for it with some similitude of warmth. In the case of that gift, it is one of the instances when 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' No, I have planned what we are to do to-morrow. In the morning we will go shopping; in the afternoon we will stay at home and receive calls; in the evening we will go to the theatre." "Oh, but, Aunt Ri, I haven't been going anywhere." "High time you did. I don't want you to do anything that might distress you, Verlinda, but I think a good play or two will do you a world of good. We will look at the paper and see what is going on. We must hear some good music. Perhaps there are to be some good concerts at the Peabody; we will find out. I don't believe in persons making a selfish indulgence of a sorrow. I am sure no one more than Martin would like you to have a pleasant, cheerful time. You need it, and we ought to do what is best for us." "Very well," Linda acquiesced. "I am in your hands, Aunt Ri. I will do as you say."