"But he's going off--without me," Norma wailed, rushing to the bathroom, and pinning her magnificent mass of soft dark hair into a stern knob for her bath. "Aunt Kate, I've always loved Wolf, always!" she said, passionately. "And if he really had gone away without me I think it would have broken my heart! You _know_ how I love him! We'll catch him somewhere, I know we will! We'll telephone--or else Harry----" She trailed into the kitchen half-dressed, ten minutes later. "I've telephoned for a taxi, Aunt Kate, and we'll find him somewhere," she said, gulping hot coffee appreciatively. "I must--I've something to tell him. But I'll have to tell you everything in the cab. To begin with--it's all over. I'm done with the Melroses. I appreciate all they did for me, and I appreciate your worrying and planning about that old secret. But I've made up my mind. Whatever you have of letters, and papers and proofs, I want you please to do the family a last favour by burning--every last shred. I've told Chris, I won't touch a cent of the money, except what Aunt Marianna left me; and I never, never, never intend to say one more word on the subject! Thousands didn't make me happy, so why should a million? The best thing my father ever did for me was to give my mother a chance to bring me here to you!" She had gotten into her aunt's lap as she spoke, and was rubbing her cheek against the older, roughened cheek, and punctuating her conversation with little kisses. Mrs. Sheridan looked at her, and blinked, and seemed to find nothing to say. "Perhaps some day when it's hot--and the jelly doesn't jell--and the children break the fence," pursued Norma, "I will be sorry! I haven't much sense, and I may feel that I've been a fool. But then I just want you to remind me of Leslie--and the Craigies--or better, of what a beast I am myself in that atmosphere! So it's all over, Aunt Kate, and if Wolf will forgive me--and he always does----" "He's bitterly hurt this time, Nono," said her aunt, gently. Norma looked a little anxious. "I wrote him in Philadelphia," she said, "but he won't get that letter. Oh, Aunt Kate--if we don't find him! But we will--if I have to walk up to him in the station the last minute--and stop him----" "Ah, Norma, you love him!" his mother said, in a great burst of thankfulness. "And may God be thanked for all His goodness! That's all I care about--that you love him, and that you two will be together again. We'll get hold of him, dear, somehow----!" "But, my darling," she added, coming presently to the bedroom door to see the dashing little feathered hat go on, and the dotted veil pinned with exquisite nicety over Norma's glowing face, and the belted brown coat and loose brown fur rapidly assumed, "you're not wearing your mourning!" "Not to-day," Norma said, abstractedly. And aloud she read a list: