"So there'll just be me left," I hurried to say, kind of to help him out.
"And, of course, you'll live right along here with us," he said, "except, once in a while, when Tom and Elise want you there with them."
"I'm worse to dispose of than a mother-in-law," I half laughed, sorry in a moment that I had spoken so, for Alec looked hurt, and exclaimed, "Oh, Bobbie dear!"
"Oh, I'll try, Alec, I really will," I reassured him, for Alec always brings out the best in me.
"And go and see Edith very soon?" he said, following me up cruelly. "She'll be expecting you."
"Oh, yes, I'll try," I murmured, biting my trembling under lip.
"Good girl! I knew I could count on you. You'll like Edith," he said. "And she wants to be awfully kind to you and Ruth. I know you'll try and make it easy for her, Bobbie," he added, and left me as cheerfully as a summer's breeze.
Late that afternoon, about five I think, I started out for a walk in Buxton's woods, a quarter of a mile back of our house. I hadn't been gone very long when I heard a step behind me, and turning around I saw, mounted on her stunning black Kentucky thoroughbred, Edith Campbell, coming toward me. I wanted to run away, to hide perhaps behind a tree and let her pass, but I couldn't for she had caught sight of me.
"Hold on," she called. "Wait a minute," and she drew up beside me. "Hello, Lucy," she said in her familiar, breezy way. "Now isn't this luck?" Her dark, crisp hair was neat and firm beneath the little
