“What a strange request, Harriet! I don’t see what my word given to you would be worth in such a case.” Then her face took on a look of sadness. “I wonder,” she said musingly, “if I ought to tell you something. I should like to so much, Harriet, but it doesn’t seem to be quite fair.” Mrs. Percy-Bartlett threw her arm around Gertrude’s neck, and drew her close to her side. “You can trust me, Gertrude. Don’t you know you can? I knew that you had something to tell me. Whisper it, my dear. What is it?” Gertrude bent her head close to her confidante’s ear. “Buchanan Budd proposed to me last night, Harriet.” “And you”-- “And I refused him,” answered Gertrude, a hysterical break in her voice. “I am so sorry,” said Mrs. Percy-Bartlett caressingly, as she gently stroked Gertrude’s luxuriant hair. The girl’s eyes met hers questioningly. “Sorry, Harriet; sorry that I refused him?” “No, no, my dear; not that at all. I’m sorry that you had to go through such an ordeal. But, Gertrude, you have something more to tell me--something more important.” Gertrude Van Vleck drew herself up and looked at her friend searchingly. “You are so hard to satisfy, Harriet,” she exclaimed at length. “Is it not enough that I have confessed to you that a man proposed to me last night, and that I rejected him. Really, my dear, you must check your awful appetite for gossip.” Mrs. Percy-Bartlett arose, a hurt look on her face. “I don’t wonder, Gertrude, that a good many people fear you. You say very cutting things at times.” “Forgive me, Harriet,” cried Gertrude impulsively. “Come, sit down here. I didn’t mean to be sarcastic, my dear. That’s nice of you. Come close to me. Don’t you know, Harriet, that the penitent never tells quite all that is on her soul, at the confessional? You mustn’t expect too much of me. I’m only human, you know, my dear. What would a woman be without her secret? You must let me have mine, Harriet, and I will not ask for yours.” Mrs. Percy-Bartlett flushed slightly as her eyes met Gertrude’s. “Perhaps I was too exacting, Gertrude,” she said softly. “But I am so anxious to see you perfectly happy, that I let my wishes get the better of my discretion. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” “Anxious to see me perfectly happy,” repeated Gertrude musingly. “And that seems to mean, Harriet, that you would like to have me married.” Mrs. Percy-Bartlett laughed nervously. “It does appear illogical,” she remarked in a voice that sounded cold and hard, even to herself. “It is curious how marriage seems to make every woman a match-maker. I’m sure that I, for one, can’t understand it.” There was silence in the room for several moments. Gertrude and Harriet understood each other perfectly; but there is always a well-defined limit to frankness between two women, especially when one is married and the other not. With studied composure, Gertrude asked indifferently, as she rose to go:-- “Have you seen Mr. Stoughton recently, Harriet?”