“Well, Daffydowndilly, what is on your mind?” began Grace when the last gay good-night had sounded and Arline had closed the door of her dainty blue and white room.

“Let’s get comfy first.  I can talk a great deal better.”  Arline began a listless unfastening of her fluffy lingerie frock, her eyes fixed moodily on Grace.

“All right.”  Grace had already divested herself of her gown of soft white China silk and was now seated before the dressing table energetically brushing her wealth of golden brown hair.

Nothing more was said until, with a little fluttering sigh, Arline had curled up like a kitten at Grace’s feet, her golden head resting against her friend’s knee.  Smiling tenderly down on her, Grace could not help noting how utterly like a tired child she looked in her baby-blue negligee.  “Now is the time for all good Sempers and true to come to the aid of their comrades,” she encouraged with a smile.

“Grace,” Arline lifted solemn blue eyes, “have you ever for one minute been sorry that you gave up your work for ­for ­the sake of ­love?”

“No.”  Grace shook a decided head.  Inwardly she wondered a little at the question.  “It took me a long time to come to a decision, though,” she added frankly.

“Would you mind telling me about it?” Arline flushed as she made the request.  “Please don’t think me prying, but ­” She hesitated.  “Well, I have a strong reason for asking.  It would help me, I think, if you cared to give me your confidence.”

For a moment Grace made no response.  Aside from her most intimate Oakdale friends and Emma Dean she had never divulged to any one else the story of that last year of struggle against love which had ended in her unconditional surrender to it.  To her it was as something bitter-sweet, to be locked in her memory for all time.  Yet the wistfulness of Arline’s appeal touched her deeply.

“I am willing to tell you about it,” she said slowly.  “You know, of course, that Tom Gray and I had known each other almost from childhood.  We grew up together as good comrades.  We were always together during vacations with our six other friends.  His aunt, Mrs. Gray, whom you know, was fond of having us with her.  It never entered my head that Tom cared for me in more than a friendly way, until I came home from Overton at the end of my junior year.  When I began to understand that he really loved me, I didn’t like it at all.  As I grew older I liked the idea still less.  I wanted to work; not marry Tom.  He asked me to marry him the next winter, but I said ‘no,’ After that I kept on saying ‘no,’ and last winter we threshed the matter out soon after Anne’s wedding.

“I felt very well pleased with myself for a while.  Then things went wrong at Overton and Tom joined a naturalist on an expedition to South America.  Right then it came to me that I had suddenly met with a dreadful loss.  I tried to make myself believe that I didn’t care.  While I was at home during the Easter vacation I woke up.  But it was too late.  I went back to Overton, but I wasn’t happy.  He had often told me that there would come a time when not even my work could crowd out love.  I knew that the time had come.  I had had some trouble with Miss Wharton, the dean, and expecting to be asked to resign my position at Harlowe House.  I resigned of my own accord.  It was Kathleen West who straightened out that tangle for me.  She sent for Miss Wilder, who happened to be coming home just at that time.  My resignation wasn’t accepted, and I would perhaps have gone on for another year at Overton, but ­” Grace paused, her fine face grew tender.  “Tom came back,” she continued, a faint tremor in her even tones, “and so I gladly gave up my work for love.  That’s the whole story.  I never expected to tell it to any one.  Somehow it has always been sacred to me.  I couldn’t bear to talk of it, even to Mother.”

“It’s a wonderful story.  When I asked you about giving up work for love, I never dreamed that you had gone through with any such struggle.  I feel as though I’ve intruded on very private property.  But just knowing about it has comforted me.”  Arline raised her head from Grace’s knee with sudden energy.  “It’s this way, Grace.  I have almost decided to break my engagement.”

“Why, Arline Thayer!” Amazement was written on Grace’s features.  “I am sorry to hear that.  Until to-night I had thought of you as being absolutely happy.”

“I’m not.  I’m dreadfully unhappy.”  Arline drew a quick, almost sobbing breath.  “You’ve never met Stanley Forde, my fiance, so you don’t know how handsome he is and how nice he can be ­if he chooses.  But he’s turning out a ­a ­well, a kind of tyrant.  He doesn’t like me to do settlement work.  I’ve always thought he wasn’t very highly pleased over it, but he never said a word until the other night.  Even then he didn’t say much.  But, as Elfreda says, ‘I can see’ that if I marry him he’s going to say more about it afterward.  Then we’ll quarrel and that would be dreadful.  I could never endure it.  You know how I hate quarrels.  At college I never had anything to say to or do with the girls who were trouble-makers.  What am I to do, Grace?  Break my engagement while there is still time or ­or ­” Arline subsided with a little sob.

“Poor Daffydowndilly.”  Bending, Grace wound her arms about the dainty, child-like figure.  “It’s a hard problem ­hard because I suppose you must care a great deal for him.”

“I think I must love him, or I wouldn’t wish to marry him,” came the muffled reply.  “Still I won’t give up my work.  Those poor settlement children need me.  He can’t understand that.  He knows nothing of what it means to be terribly poor.  He doesn’t like the idea of my coming into such close contact with them.  It doesn’t hurt me and it helps them,” ended Arline piteously.

“One who knows you well should understand that you are doing worthy work,” returned Grace gravely.  “Still if I were you I would not act too hastily.  It seems to me that you ought to come to a frank understanding of the matter with your fiance at once.”

“And if he refuses to allow me ­” broke in Arline quickly.

“Then you must decide within yourself whether he is worth the sacrifice,” Grace answered with deep positiveness.  Privately she did not consider that a young man, who took it upon himself to interfere with an enterprise which benefited many and harmed none, was quite worthy of her generous little comrade.  “It’s like this, Arline.  You must be true to yourself, no matter what it may cost you.  Even your fiance’s love won’t make up for having failed some one else in order to keep it.  What does your father think of it?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know,” came the quick response.  “He is very fond of Stanley.  He is pleased with our engagement.  Still he has always been interested in my work.  But I’d rather fight it out alone.  If I were some day to go to him and say, ‘I have broken my engagement,’ he would be dreadfully disappointed, but not angry.  That’s just the trouble.  I’ve always done exactly as I pleased.  It’s hard now to think of doing what some one else dictates.  Sometimes I feel that I love Stanley a great deal; then again I feel differently about it.  I’m really in a terrible muddle.  I wish I were just Daffydowndilly back at good old Overton again.”

“I wouldn’t stay in a muddle then,” advised practical Grace.  “I’d settle matters once and for all, and whichever way I might decide, I’d make myself believe that it was for the best.  But first of all I’d be very sure that love was love.”  She had reached the wise conclusion that true love and Arline were as yet strangers.

“I can’t say anything to Stanley just now.  He’s in Oregon and won’t be back until the last of August.  I don’t care to write him.  I must wait until I see him.  But I shall think over all you’ve said and try very hard to be true to myself.”  Arline rose and standing beside Grace slid a loving arm about her neck.  “I knew you could help me,” she said.  “I feel ever so much better.  Now I mustn’t keep you any longer.  Thank you, Loyalheart.  You’ve been very sweet to poor, muddled Daffydowndilly.”

“You are a dear child and deserve the best that life can give you.”  Grace returned the gentle embrace with a tenderness that bespoke unutterable regard.  It hurt her to know that gay, light-hearted Arline Thayer who had always appeared to slip through life so smoothly, should have run against an ugly snag.

Long after they had said good-night, Grace lay looking out at the calm moonlight and pondering over the great changes that less than a year had brought her.  Her own happiness so complete, she longed for the whole world to be happy with her.  Her ever-ready sympathy went out to all those in it whose difficult love-problems tended toward renunciation.  She wished whole-heartedly that she might waken to the sunlight of a day when she could say joyfully and with supreme truth:  “All’s right with the world.”