No mention was made of the Lansings, and Louie did not know they were abroad. Occasionally a thought of Fred crossed her mind with a feeling that in some way he would have stood by her as Herbert had not done. But she resolutely put such thoughts aside as a wrong to Herbert. She was no longer bound to him, and she was glad; but sometimes in the night, when she was too tired and anxious to sleep, there would come over her a feeling of desolation which made her heart ache for the love she had put from her, and which at times had made her very happy. Then she would rally and say, “It is better so; a great deal better,” and be herself again. She did not see Herbert after her talk with him until just before he went back to college in the autumn. He had been to the Adirondacks, with some of his classmates and their sisters,—girls with big hats and tailor gowns, who were up-to-date in every way, and while rambling and climbing and hunting among the mountains and lakes he began to find that life might be tolerably endurable without Louie. There had been full accounts of the failure in the papers, and he had heard it discussed many times, and Mr. Grey spoken of as a man who deserved the weight of the law, if he did not get it. His companions knew nothing of his former relations with Louie, nor did he enlighten them, and he was conscious of a feeling of relief that the Greys were nothing to him. “If Louie were all alone it would be different,” he thought, “and I would not give her up, but I cannot take the family.” He went to see her on his return from the Adirondacks, and just before he left for Yale. He had a little time to wait, and as he glanced around the elegantly furnished room he wondered how long the family could stay there, and where they would go when obliged to leave. His father had wondered so, too; and as the house in White’s Row was still vacant, and his generous fit still on him, he had said to Herbert, in speaking of the Greys: