She came and sat down by me on the lounge, and took my hand, saying, “Mr. Whitely asked Maizie to marry him four years ago, but she said she would not marry a business man. He wouldn’t give up trying, however, though he made no apparent headway. Indeed, Maizie told me herself, last spring, just before she sailed, that she could never love him, and she was convinced that loveless marriages were wrong, being sure to end in unhappiness or sacrifice of one or the other. So I thought it would come to nothing. But he persisted, and he’s succeeded, for she told me last week that she had changed her mind, and was going to marry him.” “Do you know why she has done so?” I asked drearily. “I think it is that book of his. Not merely is she pleased by the position it’s given him as a writer, but she says it has convinced her that he is different from what he appears in society; that no man but one of noble character and fine mind could write from such a standpoint.” I sat there dumb and stolid, yet knowing that all my past suffering had been as nothing to this new grief. Oh, my blindness and wickedness! To think, my darling, that it was I who had aided him to win you, that my hand had made and set the trap! Why had I not ended my wretched existence three years ago, and so, at least, saved myself from this second wrong, tenfold worse than that I had endeavored to mend? For my own selfish pride and honor, I had juggled, deceived you, Maizie, the woman dearer to me than all else, and had myself doomed you to such a fate. I suppose I must have shown some of the agony I felt, for Mrs. Blodgett put her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take it so to heart, Rudolph,” she begged, giving me that name for the first time. “There can still be much true happiness in your life.” I only kissed her hand in response, but she instantly pressed her lips on my forehead. “I am so sorry,” she sighed, “for I had hoped for something very different.” “Mr. Blodgett told me,” I answered; and then I spoke of the resolution I had come to last night. When I had finished, she said, “We won’t talk of it any more, Rudolph, for Agnes’ sake as well as yours, but perhaps by and by, when the suffering is over, you will come and talk to me again; for if you ever feel that you can be a good husband to my girl, I shall not be afraid to trust her to you, if you can gain her consent.” I rose to go, and she remarked, “Yes. You mustn’t stay, for as it is, my dressing will make us very late. If the carriage is at the door, tell Maxwell to drive you home, and then return for us. You mustn’t walk in the slush with that horrid cough of yours. Does your landlady give you blankets enough? Well, tell her to make a steaming glass of whiskey toddy. Wrap some woolen round your throat and chest, and go straight to bed. Why, Rudolph, you are not going without kissing me good-night?” she continued, as if that had been my habit, adding, “Some day I shall make you tell me all about it.”