And apparently from the frequency with which his name appeared in her “memory book,” Bruce Brainard continued to be “agreeable.” Millicent turned page after page, and for the first time read between the lines of her stylish penmanship what her mother, with the far-sighted eyes of experience, had interpreted plainly. Flattered by the attentions of a polished man of the world, years older than herself, Millicent had mistaken admiration for interest and liking for love. Brainard’s courtship of the debutante had been ardent, and what she termed an engagement and her mother “an understanding” had followed. Brainard had pleaded for an early wedding, but business had called him away to Brazil, and on Millicent’s advice, who knew her mother’s whims and fancies, he had postponed asking Mrs. Porter’s consent to their engagement until his return. Millicent read on and on in her ledger; accounts of parties gave place to comments about her brother, Craig, then he absorbed the entire space allotted to each day, and the progress of his trip home was duly recorded, and the items: October 5th--Thank God, Craig is home again, but, oh, what a wreck! It’s agony to see him lying in bed unable to move hand or foot, unable to speak, unable to recognize us. But he’s _home_, not lying in an unknown grave somewhere in Europe. I’ve just met Dr. Alan Noyes, who accompanied Craig to this country, and to whose skill Craig owes his slender hold on life. The doctor is painfully shy. October 7th--Saw more of Dr. Noyes today; he improves on acquaintance. Mother says he is not shy, only reticent. Millicent did not linger over the next few entries, but paused and scanned the words: October 15th--Vera Deane has replaced the night nurse for Craig. She reminds me so of Dorothy, yet they are not a bit alike. Persuaded Dr. Noyes to talk about his experiences in the field hospitals abroad. Must write Bruce tonight without fail. Millicent skipped several pages, then came the entry: December 15th--I had no idea Alan Noyes had such a temper; we quarreled most awfully. He announced his creed is never to forget a friend and never to forgive an enemy. Well, I can be stubborn, too. Millicent sighed drearily and jumped to the date: December 24th--Alan Noyes has been exceptionally nice today. Our quarrel has blown over. I wish I had told him about Bruce when we first met. A tear rolled down Millicent’s white cheek and splashed upon the paper, then suddenly she bowed her head and gave way to the grief consuming her. The minutes lengthened, and at last she sat up and dried her eyes. The outburst had brought physical relief, for during the past twenty-four hours she had fought off every inclination to allow her feelings sway, had suppressed all sign of emotion, and had refused to discuss Bruce Brainard’s mysterious death, even with her mother. [Illustration: “Who’s there?” she called, as heavy steps approached.]