Farwell she could not have seen him, and she knew him to be a thousand miles away. And yet, when the youth out there, lying in the cool water, raised one arm and waved a greeting to her, she answered it involuntarily, and then, remembering for the first moment herself, standing out in the broad daylight in her wrapper, her hair streaming about her shoulders, her little rosy feet bare, she gave a startled cry and sprang back into her room, blushing hotly though no one was there to see.
Her maid came to her in half an hour, bringing the morning mail. She was surprised to see that one of the letters bore the handwriting of her cousin, Amelia Carleton, who was still at Lenox. The first part of the letter she glanced through carelessly, but the last paragraph fixed her attention; she read it slowly, and afterwards sat looking at it abstractedly.
