"Yes, they won me," said Lydia.
"Poor child! I never wished harder'n I have tonight that your mother hadn't died. But never mind! I guess it's just as well you gave in. Kent could win the heart of a bronze image. Drat him! Run along with the supper, Lydia."
"Now," said Kent, as he sipped his chocolate, "let's lay our plans."
"Not before me," exclaimed Lydia. "My one stipulation is that you don't tell me any of the details."
"All right," said Amos, hastily. "We'll do anything she wants, now, eh, Kent?"
"You bet," replied the young man.
That night, after Kent had gone, Lydia stood long at the living-room window which gave on the front gate. The pine, its boughs powdered with snow, kept its lonely vigil over the cottage.
"Yes," whispered Lydia, finally, "your last friend has deserted you, but I guess I'm keeping faith with Kent and Dad, anyhow."
Then she went to bed.
For a day or so Lydia avoided Billy Norton. But she was restless and unhappy and found it difficult to keep her mind on her college work. Finally, she timed her return from the dairy school, one afternoon, to coincide with Billy's home-coming from his office and she overtook him Just beyond the end of the street-car line. The sun was sinking and the wind was rising.