That she had been a fool she was not prepared to admit at the instant--and yet it was less than a year ago, that June night when she had watched George over the clove pinks while her heart melted with happiness.

She had had her way, and she was already regretting her madness.

"Is this what love comes to ?" she asked herself bitterly as she watched the white flakes whirling out of the gray sky.

"Is this what it all comes to in the end, or am I different from other women ?" Moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, Mrs.Fowler smiled bravely, though there were tears in her eyes.

"Archibald wanted to, but I wouldn't let him," she replied; "I hoped that you would make everything different.