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“Yes,” said Lina absently; her thoughts had gone back to Ralph.

That evening a letter was left at the front door of the old Churchill place. It was addressed in a scholarly hand to Miss Madeline Churchill, and Amelia Kent took it in. Amelia had been Miss Madeline’s “help” for years and had grown grey in her service. In Amelia’s loyal eyes Miss Madeline was still young and beautiful; she never doubted that the letter was for her mistress. Nobody else there was ever addressed as “Miss Madeline.”

Miss Madeline was sitting by the window of her own room watching the sunset through the elms and reading her evening portion of Thomas a Kempis. She never liked to be disturbed when so employed but she read her letter after Amelia had gone out.

When she came to a certain paragraph, she turned very pale and Thomas a Kempis fell to the floor unheeded. When she had finished the letter she laid it on her lap, clasped her hands, and said, “Oh, oh, oh,” in a faint, tremulous voice. Her cheeks were very pink and her eyes very bright. She did not even pick up Thomas a Kempis but went to the door and called Lina.

“What is it, Auntie?” asked Lina curiously, noticing the signs of unusual excitement about Miss Madeline.

Miss Madeline held out her letter with a trembling hand.

“Lina, dear, this is a letter from the Rev. Cecil Thorne. It–it is–a proposal of marriage. I feel terribly upset. How very strange that it should come so soon after our talk this morning! I want you to read it! Perhaps I ought not to show it to anyone–but I would like you to see it.”

Lina took the letter and read it through. It was unmistakably a proposal of marriage and was, moreover, a very charming epistle of its kind, albeit a little stiff and old-fashioned.

“How funny!” said Lina when she came to the end.

“Funny!” exclaimed Miss Madeline, with a trace of indignation in her gentle voice.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that the letter was funny,” Lina hastened to explain, “only that, as you said, it is odd to think of it coming so soon after our talk.”

But this was a little fib on Lina’s part. She had thought that the letter or, rather, the fact that it had been written to Miss Madeline, funny. The Rev. Cecil Thorne was Miss Madeline’s pastor. He was a handsome, scholarly man of middle age, and Lina had seen a good deal of him during her summer in Lower Wentworth. She had taught the infant class in Sunday School and sometimes she had thought that the minister was in love with her. But she must have been mistaken, she reflected; it must have been her aunt after all, and the Rev. Cecil Thorne’s shyly displayed interest in her must have been purely professional.

“What a goose I was to be afraid he was in love with me!” she thought. Aloud she said, “He says he will call tomorrow evening to receive your answer.”

“And, oh, what can I say to him?” murmured Miss Madeline in dismay. She wished she had a little of Lina’s experience.

“You are going to–you will accept him, won’t you?” asked Lina curiously.

“Oh, my dear, no!” cried Miss Madeline almost vehemently. “I couldn’t think of such a thing. I am very sorry; do you think he will feel badly?”

“Judging from his letter I feel sure he will,” said Lina decidedly.

Miss Madeline sighed. “Oh, dear me! It is very unpleasant. But of course I must refuse him. What a beautiful letter he writes too. I feel very much disturbed by this.”

Miss Madeline picked up Thomas a Kempis, smoothed him out repentantly, and placed the letter between his leaves.

* * * * *

When the Rev. Cecil Thorne called at the old Churchill place next evening at sunset and asked for Miss Madeline Churchill, Amelia showed him into the parlour and went to call her mistress. Mr. Thorne sat down by the window that looked out on the lawn. His heart gave a bound as he caught a glimpse of an airy white muslin among the trees and a ripple of distant laughter. The next minute Lina appeared, strolling down the secluded path that curved about the birches. A young man was walking beside her with his arm around her. They crossed the green square before the house and disappeared in the rose garden.