“Oh, I’m afraid it’s true,” said Virginia, echoing the misgivings of her room-mate. “She looks so quiet and sad, it just breaks my heart. I actually know she’d been crying the other day when I saw her coming out of the Retreat. Probably she went there for comfort. Poor thing! How could he have been so cruel?” “Why, maybe it wasn’t he. Maybe he’s suffering, and pacing the streets of Paris this moment, preferring death to life.” Lucile’s imagination, so fruitless in the channels of academic thought, was certainly prolific in the flowery paths of Romance. “Perhaps Miss Wallace felt the call to service, broke her engagement, and has decided to give her very life to help others.” “I don’t think Miss Wallace would do that,” Virginia said thoughtfully. “Not that it isn’t a wonderful thing to do; but I feel some way as though she’d rather be a mother. One evening last Thanksgiving I was in her room, and we were talking about the things girls could do in the world. I asked her what she thought was the noblest thing; and she said in the sweetest voice, ‘A real mother, Virginia.’” “And she is just a born mother,” added Priscilla. “Mother said so at Thanksgiving. Oh, dear! Why did it have to happen?” No one pretended to know. Lucile was inclined to attribute it to Fate; while Dorothy advanced the thought that it might be a trial sent to prove Miss Wallace’s strength. “And it’s wonderful how strong she is,” she said. “She’s usually so jolly at table; and last night she was the very life of the party. One would never have known.” “Yes, and she probably went home to a sleepless night,” suggested Lucile, “and tossed about till morning.” “It seems to me she’s been happier lately.” “She’s probably learning to bear it better—that’s all.” “She’s never worn an engagement ring, has she?” asked the practical Vivian. “No, but of course she wouldn’t wear it here. It would excite too much comment,” Priscilla explained. “Without doubt she had one, and wore it around her neck, before it happened,” Lucile again suggested. “Oh, if we could only show her in some way that we’re sorry for her! That would, perhaps, help a little,” said Virginia. “Do you suppose she’d feel we were interfering if we sent her some flowers? We needn’t say a thing, but just write ‘With sympathy’ or ‘With love’ on a card, and she’d understand. Do you think she’d like it, Priscilla?” “Why, yes, I think she would. And ’twould relieve our minds. We’d know we’d done all we could. I suppose time will make it easier for her to bear.” “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding, and they’ll come together again, when they see they can’t live without each other,” said Vivian hopefully. “Maybe, but I feel that it’s the end! And oh, if you girls could only have seen them together and known that they were made for each other! Fate is cruel!” wailed Lucile tragically.