Surprise and something like contempt flashed over Edna's face. "Is it since you drank the blueberry juice?" she asked, and the next moment could have bitten her tongue for its rashness. Dunham showed no surprise. "Oh, it's a gradual estimate," he said. The girl laughed. "Very gradual. Is it three days or four?" "Time doesn't enter much into that sort of impression." "Well, it should," responded Edna decidedly. They said no more, but reaching the ledges seated themselves in the lee of a sheltering rock, and read, and gazed, until the swift passing hours brought them to a realizing sense that the anxious housekeeper would begin to be on the lookout. "Well," remarked John with a luxurious sigh, "our friends don't know what they missed by scorning our invitation." Edna said nothing, but the memory of her parting words with Sylvia began to be an uncomfortable one. The situation was emphasized by her guests' failure to join them here. She had not really supposed that Sylvia could feel easy to be with her again until they had been able to talk alone, but she told herself that she could not have left John to his own devices this afternoon. This evening she would surely make everything understood with Sylvia, show the girl how her behavior had appeared, and, she hoped, give her a new standard. Miss Lacey and Judge Trent were seated on the piazza when they approached. "Just in time," said Miss Martha. "Where's that lazy Sylvia? Not down yet?" asked Edna. "No," replied Judge Trent; "I was just telling Miss Lacey I should go up and knock on her door. She assures me that laziness is not one of my niece's characteristics." "Decidedly not," returned Edna. "Quite the opposite," said Miss Martha. "That is why, if she sleeps right through supper time, I knew Edna would excuse her. I can't forget how she looked when she came upstairs. All the life seemed gone out of her. Folks come to those spots, if they will keep themselves keyed up all the time." Edna began to have very uncomfortable sensations. She passed into the house and upstairs. Pausing before Sylvia's door, she listened. There was a little rapping sound within, all else was still. The girl knocked softly. There was no response. She turned the handle quietly. If, possibly, her guest were asleep, she would not awaken her. Slowly, slowly she opened the unresisting door, and her expression changed from expectancy to blankness as she perceived that the room was empty. The fair white pillow bore no imprint of a curly head. The curtain ring was striking rhythmically against the window sill in the breeze. Edna walked in, and looked about the orderly apartment. An envelope on the dresser caught her eye. It was addressed to herself, and the contents were as follows: