For some time after McGinnis went away, Margaret remained at the Mill House; but she was restless and unhappy in the position in which she found herself. McGinnis taught an evening class at the Mill House, and she knew that it could not be easy for him to see her so frequently now that the engagement was broken. Margaret blamed herself bitterly, not for the broken engagement, but for the fact that there had ever been any engagement at all. She told herself that she ought to have known that the feeling she had for Bobby was not love--and she asked herself scornfully what she thought of a young woman who could give that love all unsought to a man who was so very indifferent as to beg her favor for another! Those long hours of misery when the mills burned had opened Margaret's eyes; and now that her eyes were opened, she was frightened and ashamed. It seemed to Margaret, as she thought of it, that there was no way for her to turn but to leave both the Mill House and Hilcrest for a time. Bobby would be happier with her away, and the Mill House did not need her--Clarabella had come from New York, and had materially strengthened the teaching force. As for Hilcrest--she certainly would not stay at Hilcrest anyway--now. Later, when she had come to her senses, perhaps--but not now. It did not take much persuasion on the part of Margaret to convince Mrs. Merideth that a winter abroad would be delightful--just they two together. The news of Margaret's broken engagement had been received at Hilcrest with a joyous relief that was nevertheless carefully subdued in the presence of Margaret herself; but Mrs. Merideth could not conceal her joy that she was to take Margaret away from the "whole unfortunate affair," as she expressed it to her brothers. Frank Spencer, however, was not so pleased at the proposed absence. He could see no reason for Margaret's going, and one evening when they were alone together in the library he spoke of it. "But, Margaret, I don't see why you must go," he protested. For a moment the girl was silent; then she turned swiftly and faced him. "Frank, Bobby McGinnis was my good friend. From the time when I was a tiny little girl he has been that. He is good and true and noble, but I have brought him nothing but sorrow. He will be happier now if I am quite out of his sight at present. I am going away." Frank Spencer stirred uneasily. "But you will be away--from him--if you are here," he suggested. "Oh, but if I'm here I shall be there," contested Margaret with a haste that refused to consider logic; then, as she saw the whimsical smile come into the man's eyes, she added brokenly: "Besides, I want to get away--quite away from my work." Spencer grew sober instantly. The whimsical look in his eyes gave place to one of tender sympathy. "You poor child, of course you do, and no wonder! You are worn out with the strain, Margaret." She raised a protesting hand. "No, no, you do not understand. I--I have made a failure of it."