"No," said Mary with dignity, "I never did." "But, Mary,"--Jane broke into a laugh. "You needn't laugh, Jane. It was a very serious matter." "If you'd only explained it, Mary, I could have told you----" "That is precisely why I didn't explain it, Jane," Mary answered. "I knew you would interfere, an' I felt it was somethin' that laid between me an' my conscience. No matter what you'd 'a' said, I should 'a' felt the same way about it. Matters of right an' wrong are the affairs of me an' my Maker. Nobody else on earth can settle 'em." There were instances when it was useless to argue with Mary, and Jane saw that this was one of them. Had she so willed she could not only have cleared up the mystery about Doctor Marsh's medicine, but she could have furnished her sister with the key to Martin's caprices, and thereby saved the metaphysician not only much worry but also much physical labor. Mary and Eliza, however, lived in such a miniature world that Jane knew if Martin's secret were divulged it would become the unending topic of conversation from that moment on. Moreover, so intense would be his sisters' excitement concerning the affair, and so keen their interest and curiosity that they might blunder into destroying the delicate fabric of the romance altogether. Hence Jane kept her own council, speculating with amusement as to how long it would be before his two solicitous but blinded relatives should stumble upon the truth. In the meantime the neighboring between the two families, so bravely begun, was not continued. Mary and Eliza Howe had not the courage or the initiative to attempt a second clandestine tea-party, much as they would have enjoyed it; and Jane saw no use in urging Lucy to the house. If Martin decreed to further the affair, he was quite capable of doing so without any aid of hers; and if he ordained to abandon it, as he evidently did, wild horses could not turn him from his purpose. Therefore Jane gave up all her aggressive attempts to heal the breach between Howe and Webster, and contented herself with waving to Lucy over the wall and calling a cheery greeting to the girl whenever she came within hailing distance. Lucy was disappointed by this retreat of her neighbors into their former aloofness. Of course their action was traceable to Martin. It was his fault. No doubt he had gone home and berated his sisters for their friendliness and had so intimidated them that they had no choice but to bow to his will. Jane was the only one of them anyway who had the spirit to defy her brother, and presumably she had decided that the game was not worth the candle. Perhaps, too, she was right. To live in a daily purgatory made of life a sorry existence. She herself had found that out.