"People don't scatter automobiles around carelessly among their friends, as a general rule," observed Juliet.

"I wish I could get it up to Kent's," Romeo said, thoughtfully. "It always reminds me--here."

"I'd just as soon drive it back," the Doctor answered. "It's more of a trot out here than I supposed it was."

"Why, yes," cried Juliet. "You can drive it back to-night and take Isabel home!"

"Charmed," lied the Doctor, with an awkward bow.

So it happened that Isabel once more climbed into the red car and went back over the fateful road. The machine ran well, but it seemed to require the driver's entire attention, for his conversation consisted of brief remarks to which answers even more brief were vouchsafed.

When he turned, on the wide road in front of Madame Bernard's, after leaving Isabel at the gate, she lingered in the shadow, watching, until he was out of sight. The throb of the engine became fainter and fainter, then died away altogether. Isabel sighed and went in, wondering if Allison, after giving her the ring and the violin, would not also want her to have the car. Or, if that seemed too much, and she should send back the violin--she pondered over it until almost dawn, then went to sleep.

The following afternoon, while Madame Bernard slept, Isabel sat idly in the living-room, looking out of the window, though, as she told herself fretfully, there was not much use of looking out of the window when n.o.body ever went by. But no sooner had she phrased the thought than she heard the faint chug-chug of an approaching motor.

She moved back, into the shelter of the curtain, and presently saw the big red automobile whizz by. Doctor Jack, hatless and laughing, was at the wheel. Beside him was Colonel Kent.

Had they gone out and left Allison alone? Surely, since there was no one else. Fortune favoured her if she wished to see him. But did she dare?

Isabel was nothing if not courageous. Arming herself with an excuse in the shape of the violin, she sallied forth and made her way to Kent's, meeting no one upon the well-worn path.

As it happened, Allison was on the lower veranda, walking back and forth, persistently accompanied by the Crosby pup. a.s.sisted by the Colonel and Doctor Jack, he had come down without accident, and had promised to go out in the car with them a little later.

When he saw Isabel coming up the walk, he stopped in astonishment. He did not go to meet her, but offered her a chair and said, with formal politeness: "How do you do? This is an unexpected pleasure."

"I brought this," began Isabel, offering him the violin.

He took it with a smile. "Thank you. I don't know that I shall ever use it again, but I am glad to have it."

There was a pause and Isabel moved restlessly in her chair. Then she slipped the ring from her finger. "Do you want this now?" she asked. Her face was a shade paler.

Allison laughed. "Indeed I don't. Whom could I give it to?"

"Rose," suggested Isabel, maliciously.

Allison sighed and turned his face away. "She wouldn't take it," he said, sadly.

Isabel slipped it back on her finger, evidently relieved. "I'm glad you're better," she went on, clearing her throat.

"Thank you. So am I."

"I saw your father, out in the car. The Doctor was with him."

"Yes. They're coming back for me in a little while."

"It's a lovely car. The Doctor brought me home in it last night, from Crosby's."

"So he told me." Allison did not see fit to say just how much Doctor Jack had told him. He smiled a little at the recollection of the young man's remorseful confession.

"I told them," continued Isabel, "that I thought it was mine--that your father had given it to me, but it seems I was mistaken."

"It seems so," Allison agreed. "Dad gave it to the Doctor this morning."

Isabel repressed a bitter cry of astonishment. "For keeps?"

"Yes, for keeps. It's little enough to give him after all he's done for me. We both wanted him to have it."

"You could get another, couldn't you?"

"I suppose so, if I wanted it. People can usually get things they want, if they are intangible."

"I wanted to tell you," resumed Isabel, "that I was sorry I acted the way I did the last time I was here."

"Don't think of it," replied Allison, kindly. "It was very natural."

"It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and--and--I wish everything could be as it was before," she concluded, with a faint flush creeping into her face.

"That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel--that things can never be as they were before. Sometimes they're worse, sometimes better, but the world is never the same."

"Of course," she answered, without grasping his meaning, "but you're going to be all right again now, and--that's the same."

Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to conceal a smile. "It may be the same for me, but it couldn't be for you. I couldn't give you any guarantee that it wouldn't happen again, you know. I might be run over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any one of a thousand things might happen to me. There's always a risk."

Tears filled Isabel's eyes. "I don't believe you ever cared very much for me," she said, her lips quivering.

"I did, Isabel," he answered, kindly, "but it's gone now. Even at that, it lasted longer than you cared for me. Come, let's be friends."

He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a moment, then quickly took it away. He noted that it was very cold.

"I must be going," she said, keeping her self-control with difficulty, "Aunt Francesca will miss me."

"Thank you for coming--and for bringing the violin."

"You're welcome. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Silver Girl. I hope you'll be happy."

Isabel did not answer, nor turn back. She went out of the gate and out of his life, pride keeping her head high until she had turned the corner. Then, very sorry for herself, she sat down and wept.

XXIII

"TEARS, IDLE TEARS"