When she had made up her mind to live alone, five months ago, she had had no conception of the difficulties that would rise up to grin at her inexperience. She had imagined that it would be easy to regulate her life. Big obstacles there might be, she had thought; she knew now that there were none. It was the tiny details that harassed her so: small household matters which sounded so trivial when one mentioned them. When you were ignorant and nervous these obstacles became almost insurmountable. How could you know what groceries you would need when you had never done any housekeeping without assistance? How could you know about tips when someone else had always done the tipping, without consulting you?

Tips worried her more than anything. Everyone who did something for you seemed to require a tip. The “gal” required many; if they were not forthcoming she became slow in answering the bell, and lazy in sweeping Elizabeth’s rooms.

The worst of it was, you couldn’t ask advice about these things. They were too silly. People would laugh, and think you a fool, or they would say wisely, Ah, now you see how unfitted you are to live alone. Aunt Anne would say that; that was why Elizabeth was so anxious never to let Aunt Anne know how lost she felt, and how lonely.

When Wendell came again she was overjoyed. He seemed to be the only real friend she had, excepting Mr. Hengist, who was so old.

Wendell exclaimed at her wan looks and thin frame. He behaved as though it were his fault that she had been ill; he blamed himself for having been away all this time.

“You couldn’t have done anything, Charles,” she said, smiling.

“Oh, I don’t know! Might have sent some flowers to cheer you on. Might have hotted up your landlady a bit, too. I say, Betty, you do look rotten! Tell you what! You must let me tool you round in the car. Do you good, what?”

She yearned to be out of town, if only for a few hours.

“Oh, I’d love to! How good you are to me, Charles!”

“I could be a lot better if you’d let me,” he said.

“I’m sure you couldn’t,” she answered, in innocence.

He took her to the river, and punted her up it one hot afternoon. She lay blissfully upon many cushions, watching Wendell’s brown, muscular arms at work with the long pole. He looked nice in flannels, she thought. It was wonderful that the creases in his trousers remained so straight and new. He wore a silk shirt, open at the neck, and where the tan left off, his skin gleamed very white.