Hilarie laid down the letter with a sigh. "Strange," she said. "Molly sees her own path of happiness quite plainly; yet she cannot follow it. What she does not know is that she has shattered my own dream." She opened another letter in her hand. "I should have known," she said. "He is base metal, through and through. I should have known. Yet what a son--of what a mother! Who would suspect?" She read the letter again. "It has been my dream ever since the fortunate day when I met you in the churchyard, to unite our branches of the house. You have thought me cold about your very beautiful projects and illusions. I am, perhaps, harder than yourself, because I know the world better, and because I have always found people extremely amiable while you are giving them things--and exactly the reverse when you call upon them to give to others. However, you will never find me opposing the plans suggested by your nobility of character. I have spoken to my mother upon this subject----" She stopped short--she tore the letter in halves, then, with another thought, put back the torn sheet into its envelope. "Wretch!" she cried, "I will keep your letter!" She sat there, alone, looking out upon the porch. The sun went down and the twilight descended, and she sat among the graves, thinking. Presently she got up, feeling cold and numbed. "It was a foolish dream," she said. "I ought to have known--I ought to have known." She walked slowly homeward. As she came out of the coppice into her own park, she saw the old house lit up already, and through the windows she saw figures flitting about. They were her students, and they were gathering for afternoon tea. "Why," she said, "I want to be their leader, and I dream an idle dream about a worthless man!" With firmer step and head erect she entered the porch of her house, and found herself in the midst of the girls. Her dream was shattered--she let it go: there are other things to think about besides a worthless man. One knows not what were the actual intentions of this young man. Fate would not, as you will presently discover, permit him to carry them out. We may, however, allow that he was really in love with one of the two girls--the one who attracted all mankind, not so much by her beauty as by her manner, which was caressing; and by her conversation, which was sprightly. He was in love with her after the manner of his father, who felt the necessity for an occasional change in the object of his affections. To desert one woman for another was part of his inheritance--had Hilarie known it. One should find excuses for hereditary tendencies; those who knew the truth would recognize in this treatment of women the mark of the changeling. As for Hilarie, she wrote a brief note to Molly. "Let us talk over these things," she said. "Meantime, I implore you not to enter into any engagement, open or secret, with a man who could venture to propose the latter." She folded the note. She rose; she sighed.