Covington watched the girl in amazement as she hastily withdrew her hand and fled from the room. The self-possessed young woman whom he had met day after day had vanished, and in her place he saw the youthful school-girl, frightened into a loss of self-control by the offer of marriage he had just tendered her. Yet the whole episode amused him hugely. He smiled as he thought of his wife-to-be--the future Mrs. John Covington--running like a frightened deer from the first situation which took her by surprise! It was not as he had pictured it, but youth is a malady from which one's convalescence is ever speedy, and he could enjoy it while it lasted. He found his way to the front door unguided, where he paused for a moment and looked back, as if expecting to see the lithe form of the girl peering over the banister; but no sound came from the floor above, and the staircase was vacant. "An amusing little minx," he laughed to himself, as he passed out of the house. Alice lost no time in seeking Eleanor, eager to pour into her sympathetic ears the new problem which had presented itself. Instead, she found Patricia, curled up in an easy-chair, rereading her _Knights of the Round Table_ with renewed interest. She bent over to kiss her, but the child drew away. "I don't love you any more," she announced. "You don't!" asked Alice, taken by surprise. "No; you're so mean to Allen." The girl laughed. "Don't be silly, Pat. Why, Allen is only a kid, like you. Where's mamma Eleanor?" "Lying down in her room; but he isn't a kid--he's my Knight." "All right; you may have him," Alice answered, lightly, turning toward the door. "Alice!" The older girl turned. "Well?" she interrogated. "Is Mr. Covington a cat?" "What do you mean?" "Allen said to me the other day, 'Listen to him purr.'" "Allen ought to have his ears boxed." "No, he oughtn't"--but the door had slammed, and Patricia was alone with her Knights. Alice tiptoed into Mrs. Gorham's room, then started to withdraw as Eleanor appeared to be asleep, but the older woman stopped her. "Come in, dear," she said; "I am only resting." "Are you ill?" the girl asked, anxiously, all thought of her errand vanishing; "you were looking very tired at breakfast." "I did not sleep last night," she replied, rising wearily from the bed, and pressing her hands against her temples as she sat down. "I am so perplexed that I don't know which way to turn. I wonder if you could advise me, Alice?" "If only I could be of help to you!" the girl exclaimed, drawing another chair close to Eleanor's, and taking both her hands in her own. Eleanor made no reply for several moments. "I don't know what to do," she said simply at last. "I want to have my life an open book to your father, yet in this one instance I can't see my way clear." "Why, Eleanor!" cried the girl, surprised, "how can that be possible?"