"She may think I ought to have told her at once," William was saying to himself, watching Mrs. Richie with such furtive attention that he forgot to turn his partner, until Martha's sharp reminder set him shuffling his feet, and grinning in a sickly way at panting Miss Maggie.... "Who is 'F.'? Will 'F.'s death be a great grief? Will she suffer?" William King's kind heart began to beat thickly in his throat. If she should cry! He bowed, with stiffly swinging arms to Miss Maggie. He thought of Helena,--who was moving through the dance as a flower sways on its stalk,--as one thinks of a child in pain; with the impulse to hold out his arms. In his absorption he stood stock-still--but happily the reel was over, and the people were beginning to say good-by. He drew a long breath of relief at getting rid of them, and as he stood waiting, Martha plucked at his sleeve. "Give me the despatch; I'll break it to her." He looked at her with absent eyes. "No; I'll see to it. Do start, Martha, and maybe that will hurry them off!" Mrs. King drew back, affronted. "Oh, very well," She said; and made her cold adieux. But Helena Richie was oblivious of Mrs. King's coldness; her anxiety and dismay had grown into an uncontrollable nervousness, and when at last, thinking she was alone, she threw up her arms with a gesture of relief, the sight of William King, coming gravely towards her, made her break into an angry exclamation. But before she knew it, he had taken her hand, and was holding it in his kind clasp. "Mrs. Richie, I am afraid I must give you bad news." "Bad--news--?" "A telegram has come," he began, taking the envelope from his pocket; but she interrupted him, Seizing it with a sort of gasp and tearing it open. A moment later she stood quite still, looking at the despatch, then with dilating eyes at the doctor, and again at the despatch. She pressed her fingers hard against her lips, and he saw that she was trembling. "You must sit down," he said gently, and put his big, quiet hand on her shoulder. She sank under his firm touch into a chair. "It is not--bad news." "I am glad of that," William said. "But you are a little pale," he added smiling. "It was a shock." "I am glad it was nothing more." She spread out the telegram and read it again. She did not seem to hear him. Dr. King looked at her uneasily. There was certainly no grief in her face, yet her color did not come back. "Some one is dead," she said. "Not--a friend." William was silent. "But it startled me." "Yes," the doctor said. "Oh, Dr. King!" she cried violently; and put her hands over her face. He thought with relief that tears had come. "He was--an enemy," she said. "He is dead, Mrs. Richie; forgive him." She did not answer. It was all William King could do not to stroke the soft hair of the bent head, and say "Don't cry," as if to a child. But when she lifted her face, her eyes were quite dry; there was a flashing look in them that broke into breathless, wavering laughter.