“Oh! you need not mind. I am sure that Berenice and I shall be able to enjoy ourselves,” said Bess, carelessly. If he felt any chagrin at her indifference he did not exhibit it when he bade her good-bye. As the man remounted his horse and rode away he did not see the interested pair of eyes watching him through the curtains. As much as he dreaded being parted from his love for several endless weeks, still he felt thankful that he would not be obliged to meet Berenice Morton until shortly before the wedding, as there might be a possibility of his being recognized, and should such be the case he feared the consequences. As it was, he was taking a long chance, and unless something unforeseen should occur he must face the inevitable meeting. “Ah,” he thought, “why not, after I am gone, try to persuade her to come to me? I can easily find some excuse which will make her coming to me imperative!” As he hastened on he already tried to formulate some plan whereby his return would be unnecessary, and consequently an embarrassing meeting might be eliminated. CHAPTER XXV BERENICE MORTON’S ARRIVAL “Stand over there, Berenice, and let me look at you all I want,” said Bess, as she and her friend entered the living room. Mrs. West, after the return from Polson, where she and Bess had gone together to meet their visitor, had slipped quietly away that the two young women might be alone during the first moments. Berenice Morton did as requested and walked to the far end of the room. Bess clasped her hands across her breast as she feasted her eyes upon her friend. Tall, even taller than Bess herself, and graceful as a swaying reed, she moved with sweet dignity. As she turned about her large, grey eyes, with their dark lashes, her rosy cheeks, aflame with a new excitement, her lips curved in a sweet smile, made a picture, set in a frame of burnished light hair. “Well—Bess, dear, isn’t this enough?” laughingly questioned Berenice, when she felt Bess had inspected her sufficiently. “How your glasses change your looks! They make you seem so dignified that I really wonder if you are the same girl that used to help me play some of those dreadful pranks. Your hair, which you always declared was just like mine, is ever so much lighter, and—dear me!—so much ‘kinkier.’ Oh! If I only were g-r-a-n-d like you!” “If I were only s-w-e-e-t like you!” replied Miss Morton, as again they embraced each other. “Berenice, of course, I have ten million things to tell you, three of ‘_whom_’ are very important. But first you must get freshened up and rested. Then, after luncheon, I’ll take you to my den—’way off along the lake, where no one dares to go ’ceptin’ me,” she said, in a low, sepulchral tone, which might make one surmise all kinds of terrible things.