eflected, to approach Mel. But he would
find a way. He would rest a few days--then find where she lived and go
to see her. Could he help her? And he had an infinite exaltation in
his power to help any one who had suffered. Lane recalled Mel's pale
sweet face, the shadowed eyes, the sad tremulous lips. And this image
of her seemed the most lasting of the impressions of the day.

CHAPTER V

The arbiters of social fate in Middleville assembled at Mrs. Maynard's
on a Monday afternoon, presumably to partake of tea. Seldom, however,
did they meet without adding zest to the occasion by a pricking down
of names.

Mrs. Wrapp was the leading spirit of this self-appointed tribunal--a
circumstance of expanding, resentment to Mrs. Maynard, who had once
held the reins with aristocratic hands. Mrs. Kingsley, the third
member of the great triangle, claimed an ancestor on the Mayflower,
which was in her estimation a guerdon of blue blood. Her elaborate and
exclusive entertainments could never be rivalled by those of Mrs.
Wrapp. She was a widow with one child, the daughter Elinor, a girl of
nineteen.

Mrs. Maynard was tall, pale, and worldly. Traces of lost beauty
flashed in her rare smiles. When Frank Maynard had failed in business
she had shrouded her soul in bitterness; and she saw the slow cruel
years whiten his head and bend his shoulders with the cold eye of a
woman who had no forgiveness for failure. After Mr. Maynard's reverse,
all that kept the pair together were the son Blair, and the sweet,
fair-haired, delicate Margaret, a girl of eighteen, whom the father
loved, and for whom the mother had large ambitions. They still
managed, in ways mysterious to the curious, to keep their fine
residence in the River Park suburb of Middleville.

On this April afternoon the tea was neglected in the cups, and there
was nothing of the usual mild gossip. The discussion involved Daren
Lane, and when two of those social arbiters settled back in their
chairs the open sesame of Middleville's select affairs had been denied
to him.

"Why did he do it?" asked Mrs. Kingsley.

"He must have been under the influence of liquor," replied Mrs.
Maynard, who had her own reasons for being relieved at the disgrace of
Daren Lane.

"No, Jane, you're wrong," spoke up Mrs. Wrapp, who, whatever else she
might be, was blunt and fair-minded. "Lane wasn't drunk. He never
drank before the war. I knew him well. He and Helen had a puppy-love
affair--th