It was as if an unseen orchestra had suddenly burst forth just near enough and just far enough away. He came to the side of her chair and laid his hand upon its back. “Then what have you been thinking of me lately?” he asked. “Very sad thoughts,” she confessed—hiding her face again. “Did you care?” “Yes, I cared.” He stood beside her for a long time without speaking or moving. Then he suddenly pulled a chair forward, and sat down close in front of her. “Don’t cry,” he said, almost daring to be tender. “There’s nothing to cry about now, you know.” “I think there’s plenty for me to cry about,” she said, looking up through her long wet lashes. “It is so terrible for me to be the one that is to blame. Papa swears he’ll never forgive Bob, and your aunt—” “Lord love you!” he exclaimed; “don’t worry over me or my aunt. I don’t. I don’t mind anything, with Holloway staked in the ditch. I can get along well enough now.” He smiled—actually smiled—as he spoke. “Oh, you mustn’t speak so,” she said, blushing; “indeed, you must not.” And smiled, too, in spite of herself. “Who’s going to stop me?” he said. “You know that you can’t; I’m miles the biggest.” She looked at him and tried to frown, but only blushed again instead. He put out his hand and took hers into its clasp. “I’m everlasting glad to shake college,” he declared gayly; “it never was my favorite alley. I’ve made up my mind to go to work just as soon as I get these pastry strips off my head.” “Where?” “I don’t know. Anywhere. I don’t care.” “But you’ll come to my house when Bob comes next week, won’t you?” she asked suddenly. “I can see now why you wouldn’t before, but—but it’s different now. Isn’t it?” “Is it?” he said, asking the question chiefly of her pretty eyes. “Is it honestly different now?” “I think it is,” she answered. A door banged below. “That’s Burr!” he exclaimed, remembering suddenly the proximity of their chairs, and making haste to place himself farther away. Burnett’s step was heard on the stair. “You never said anything to him, did you?” she questioned quickly. “Certainly not.” The next instant Burnett was in the room, and his sister was in his arms. (Astonishing how coolly he accepted the fact, too.) “Mr. Denham is coming to me with you, Bob,” she said when he released her. “I’ve persuaded him.” “How did you do it?” she was asked. “By undertaking to reconcile him with his aunt, dear,” she replied, blandly. “It’s a contract that we’ve drawn up between us. You know that I was always rather good in the part of the peacemaker.” As she spoke, her eyes fell warningly on the manifest astonishment of Aunt Mary’s nephew. “You don’t know what you’re undertaking, Betty,” said her brother. “You never had a chance to take Aunt Mary for better, for worse—I have.” “I’m not alarmed,” said she, “I’m very courageous. I’m sure I’ll succeed.” “Can the mender of ways—other people’s ways—come in?” asked a voice at the door.