"Well," William Childs said, "I must be moving along. I was going to work out a new Baconian cipher this morning, but, of course, this wretched business has knocked my mind into a cocked hat! Come, Bessie. Bessie's perfectly sick over the whole thing. She has her Bridge Club this afternoon, and this awful affair has completely upset her. Good-by, Nelly; let me know if there is anything I can do," and he hustled Mrs. Childs--who kept insisting, mildly, that she was so sorry for poor, dear Freddy--out of the room. At the door, he paused to call back: "This new cipher doesn't leave the Shakespearians a leg to stand on!" Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Weston lingered, Mrs. Holmes declaring that William Childs ought to learn to speak distinctly--"he mumbles terribly"--and Weston, silent and rather wan, walking up and down, waiting for Frederica's return. When they heard the key in the front door, the two ladies stopped talking; it was Arthur Weston who went into the hall to take Fred's hand and help her off with her coat. She hung her hat up beside her father's and gave her old friend a grim look. "Has Billy-boy put on the black cap yet? Or does grandmother demand that Howard shall 'make an honest woman' of me before the sun sets? I know what you've been up against!" "You are perfectly exhausted," he said, tenderly; "go up-stairs; I'll fight it out." "No," she said, briefly. She went into the parlor, looked at her grandmother, shrugged her shoulders, and girded herself for battle: "I'll tell you the whole story. Poor Flora has been suffering, probably for a year or more, the doctor says, from some mental deterioration. She was restless and unhappy. Of course, we knew that, because she did her work badly--which inconvenienced us. As far as she was concerned, it didn't trouble us. She was restless, because she wanted to be married and settle down. And nobody wanted her; which seemed to us just--funny. But when you come to think of it, it isn't very funny not to be wanted.... When she couldn't marry, she tried to get interested in something--music, or anything. She wanted to _do_ something." "Do something? Well, I could have giv--" "I tried to make things better for her," Fred went on, heavily, "but I suppose I didn't try hard enough. Well, anyhow, she saw I was in love with Howard--" a little shock ran through her hearers; she paused, and looked at them, faintly surprised; "why, you knew I was in love with him, didn't you? He isn't with me; not in the least. And Flora's young man wasn't in love with her. He promised to write to her, and he didn't. And that upset her a good deal. But I think the thing that really hit her hardest was to see how I felt, and how happy I was. I--I slopped over, I suppose, a good deal. It was a sort of last straw to Flora to see me so happy; it made her--well, envious, I suppose. Poor old Flora! she needn't have been."