driving alone with Myra nearly every day. He was "an old friend from
home." It had been gossip at first, but it was growing to be scandal
now, with audible wonder as to how much Mr. Leverich knew about it.

Her avoidance of George Sutton was as nothing to his desire of avoiding
her. He dived with surreptitious haste down side streets when he saw her
coming, or disappeared within shop doorways. Once, when Dosia confronted
him inadvertently on the platform of a car, and he had perforce to take
off his hat and murmur, "Good morning," he turned pale and was evidently
scared to death. After this he only appeared in the village street
guarded on either side by a female Snow--usually Ada and her mother,
though occasionally Bertha served as escort instead of the latter. The
elder Snows, in spite of this apparent security, were in a state of
constant nervous tension over Mr. Sutton's attention to Ada. He had not
"spoken" yet, but it had begun to be felt severely of late that he
ought to speak. Whenever Ada came into the house, her face was eagerly
scanned by both mother and sister to see from its look if it bore any
trace of the fateful words having been uttered. Every one knew, though
how no one could tell, that that bold thing, Dosia Linden, had tried to
get him once, and failed.

The thing that had unaccountably stirred her most since her arrival was
an unexpected meeting with Bailey Girard. Dosia, with Zaidee and Redge
held by either hand and pressing close to her as they walked merrily
along, suddenly came upon a gray-clad figure emerging from the
post-office. He seemed to make an instinctive movement as if to draw
back, that sent the swift color to her cheeks and then turned them
white. Were all the men in the place trying to avoid her? Dosia thought,
with bitter humor; but, if it were so, he instantly recovered himself,
and came forward, hat in hand, with a quick access of bright courtesy, a
punctilious warmth of manner. He walked along with her a few paces as he
talked, lifting Zaidee over a flooded crossing, before going once more
on his way. He was nothing to her, the stranger who had killed her
ideal; yet all day it was as if his image were photographed in the
colors of life upon the retina of her eye. She could not push it away,
try as she might.

Of Lawson Dosia had heard only such vague rumors as had sifted through
the letters written by Lois. He had been reported as going on in his old
way in the mining-camps,