"I don't know--exactly," he said. "They couldn't talk my language nor I theirs. So it was all done through an interpreter. And he was Mrs. Dean's brother-in-law, Prince Glückstein, and a regular trump. He saw them half a dozen times before I did. When I saw them everything was lovely. They left me alone with her after twenty minutes. Finally it was agreed that we should come back on the same steamer, her brother accompanying her." "But why on earth didn't you cable us?" she demanded. "I did," he replied. "But you didn't tell us anything," she returned. "I told you all there was to tell," he replied. "You only said you were coming," she objected. "Well," he answered, looking somewhat surprised, "I knew you'd know I wouldn't come without her." I'm glad he didn't get it into his head to "take after" me. A woman stands no more chance with a man like that than a rabbit with a greyhound. February 29. "Ma" Burke is dreadfully ill--has been for two days. The doctors have got several large Latin names for it, but the plain truth is that she has broken down under the strain she seemed to be bearing so placidly. She didn't give up until she was absolutely unable to lift herself out of bed. "I knew it was coming," she said, "but I thought I had spirit enough to put it off till I had more time." It wasn't until she did give up that her face really showed how badly off she was. I was sitting by her bed when "pa" Burke and Cyrus came in. I couldn't bear to look at them, yet I couldn't keep my eyes off their faces. Both got deadly white at sight of her, and "pa" rushed from the room after a moment or two. The doctor had cautioned him against alarming her by showing any signs of grief. But "pa" couldn't stand it. He went to his study, and the housekeeper told me he cried like a baby. Cyrus stayed, and I couldn't help admiring the way he put on cheerfulness. "I'll be all right in a few days," said "ma." "It wasn't what I did; it was what I et. I'm such a fool that I can't let things that look good go by. And I went from house to house, munching away, cake here, candy there, chocolate yonder, besides lunches and dinners and suppers. I et in and I et out. Now, I reckon I've got to settle the bill. Thank the Lord I don't have to do it standing up." Cyrus and I went away from her room together. "If she wasn't so good," said he, more to himself than to me, "I'd not be so--so uncertain." "I feel that I'm to blame," said I bitterly. "It was I that gave her all those things to do." He was silent, and his silence frightened me. I had felt that I was partly to blame. His silence made me feel that I was wholly to blame, and that he thought so. "If I could only undo it," I said, in what little voice I could muster. "If you only could," he muttered. I was utterly crushed. Every bit of my courage fled, and--but what's the use of trying to describe it? It was as if I had tried to murder her and had come to my senses and was realizing what I'd done.