It was not until he had actually gone that the truth began to dawn upon her. She saw that Evereld was making an effort at cheerfulness, that her face when in repose had a quite new expression of wistfulness, and that all at once she had grown dreamy and absent. That night, when the mystic hour of “hair brushing” came round, she could hold her tongue no longer. “I wish,” she said impetuously, “you wouldn’t shut me out of it all. I know quite well you are unhappy, though you will play the ostrich and bury your head in the sand in that English way, supposing that no one will notice you.” Evereld laughed at the old mixture of the similes. “I never heard of an English ostrich,” she said merrily. “If there ever was one it must long ago have become extinct like the Dodo.” “Ah, you laugh now,” said Bride, “but you have looked wretched all the afternoon, and I saw you crying in church.” Evereld blushed guiltily. “It was very stupid of me, but I couldn’t help remembering how different all had been last Sunday evening.” “When Mr. Denmead was here,” said Bride boldly. Evereld nodded. Bride looked straight into her soft blue eyes. “Well I’m sure I don’t wonder he lost his heart to you, but all the same I wish he hadn’t.” “We are not engaged, you know,” said Evereld. “Oh, it’s just as bad as if you were,” said Bride despondently. “As bad? What an odd way you have of congratulating me.” “I don’t congratulate you. I’m very sorry,” said Bride vigorously brushing her dark hair. “Why should he come disturbing us just when our life is beginning and we were going to have such a good time. You’ll never be at all the same to me again. It will be as the poem says: ‘One and one, with a shadowy third.’” “Nonsense,” said Evereld. “It has made me care for you fifty times more than I did, Bride, and I need you now more than ever. Besides, can’t you see how different things are for me. You have your home with your sisters, and the children; and you have brothers often staying with you, and you are all sure of each other and everything is so happy that I’m sure I don’t know how you could leave it all just yet. But I have no real home, and the only one of the Mactavishs I do really like is to be married in November. Can’t you understand how beautiful it is to really belong to someone at last?” “Yes,” said Bride. “It was selfish of me to think first of my own part of it. And after all perhaps you are right, you may need me still. Specially when the Mactavishs are horrid. They won’t like your engagement a bit.” “No,” replied Evereld quietly. “That is very certain. There are storms ahead. But I shall know where to turn to. You will always be my friend, and Mrs. Hereford says I am to come to her in any trouble.” “Of course, Doreen mothers everybody, she always did, Michael says, even when she was quite a little girl herself.”