It was a riddle with a vengeance. It is so easy to say “I’ll cut that Gordian knot!” and then pack one’s tooth-brush and start off unknotting, but it is quite another matter when one comes face to face with the problem and is met by the “buts” of those who have previously been essaying to disentangle it. “She won’t let me go,” Mrs. Rosscott had declared, “she won’t consider it for a minute.” “But she must,” Jack had declared on his side. “My dearest, you can’t stay and play maid to Aunt Mary indefinitely, and you know that as well as I do.” “Yes, I know that,” the whilom Janice then murmured. “It’s getting to be an awful question. They want me to come home for Thanksgiving. They think that I’ve been at the rest-cure long enough.” Jack had laughed a bit just there, and then he suddenly ceased laughing and frowned a good deal instead. “You were crying when I came,” he said. “The truth is you are working yourself to death and getting completely used up.” “It is wearing, I must confess,” she answered. “Yesterday I played poker until I didn’t know a blue chip from a white one, and she won the whole pot with two little bits of pairs while I was drawing to a king. I begin to fear that my mind will give way. And yet, I really don’t see how to stop. She is so sick and tired of life here and she isn’t strong enough to go to town.” “I know a very short way to put an end to everything,” said Jack. “I see two ways in fact,—one is to tell her the truth.” “Oh, don’t do that,” cried his fiancée affrightedly. “The shock would kill her outright.” “The other way,—” said Jack slowly, “would be for me to marry you and let her think that you are Janice in good earnest.” “Oh, that wouldn’t do at all,” said the pretty widow. “In the first place she would go crazy at the idea of her darling nephew’s marrying her maid,—and in the second place—” “Well,—in the second place?” “I wouldn’t marry you,—I said I wouldn’t and I won’t. You’re too young.” “But you’ve promised to marry me some day.” “Yes, I know—but not till—not till—” “Not till when?” “I haven’t just decided,” said Mrs. Rosscott, airily. “Not for a good while, not until you seem to require marrying at my hands.” “I never shall require marrying at anyone else’s hands,” the lover vowed, “but if you are so set about it as all that comes to, I shall not cut up rough for a while. Aunt Mary is the main question just now—not you.” “I know,” said his lady in anything but a jealous tone, “and as she is the question, what are we to do?” “You will go to bed,” he said, kissing her, “and I will go to think.” “Can you see any way?” she asked anxiously. Then he put his hands on either side of her face and turned it up to his own. “You plotted once and overthrew my aunt,” he said. “It’s my turn now.” “Are you going to plot?” “I’m going to try.” “I’ll pray for your success,” she whispered.