Polly had listened to the story of the lovers’ “misunderstanding,” listened with a feeling of guilt and shame at memory of her attempt to bridge over the quarrel that was not and of which Patricia was never to hear. That secret belonged alone to John Eustis and herself. If Polly’s face showed anything of the disquiet in her heart, Patricia did not perceive it, her eyes for the time being undiscerning beyond a certain focus. On the third finger of her left hand she wore a modest diamond, one which befitted the station of a young man who was not far above the lower rounds of the ladder of success. But, small as it was, it was cherished as a girl should cherish her betrothal ring regardless of its size. To the little patients on Overlook Mountain Patricia seemed a fairy godmother, indeed, for she had left with them an unbelievable number of pretty presents, enough to go quite around more than once. Even Benedicta had been won over--perhaps for the first time in her life--to a girl of fashion. “I d’n’ know ’s she’s any better ’n other folks,” Benedicta told Polly after Patricia was gone; “but when she comes round inside one o’ them bewilderin’ dresses, an’ smiles to you so sweet an’ convincin’, you’re ready to give her everything to make her do it again. It’s funny, but she gits me every time.” To the next visitor, however, Benedicta showed a silent scorn that was held back from being a veritable broadside of personal opinions only by the fact that she was a guest of Polly’s. One afternoon Annette had laboriously climbed the stairs that led from the ward to the room occupied by Polly and Lilith, to say:-- “Miss Dudley, there’s a lady that wants to see you.” “Who is she?” “I don’t know her,” declared the child. “Is she walking?” inquired Lilith. “No’m--I mean, Miss Brooks--she’s standin’ up, ’thout she’s sed down.” Annette walked across to the window and craned her neck to try to see over the edge of the veranda roof. “No, no,” laughed Lilith; “I meant, did she come in a car?” “No, Miss Brooks, she didn’t; she just came--like Miss Blackstone and Miss Foster and Mrs. Shaw and--” “Never mind, dear,” interrupted Polly, cutting short Annette’s list of the neighbors. “I will see what she wants.” She ran down lightly. It was probably an agent--their calls were not infrequent. Beyond the doorway a girl with her back to the entrance was taken up with the distant view. Polly caught her breath--and then stepped out to greet her visitor. “How do you do, Marietta? This is a surprise, indeed!” Miss Converse smiled complacently. “I expected to cause some astonishment up here this morning; but I couldn’t conveniently send word ahead.” “You didn’t walk up?”