d off, his mind was on his appointment for the
evening.

Sidney, after her involuntary bath in the river, had gone into temporary
eclipse at the White Springs Hotel. In the oven of the kitchen stove sat
her two small white shoes, stuffed with paper so that they might dry
in shape. Back in a detached laundry, a sympathetic maid was ironing
various soft white garments, and singing as she worked.

Sidney sat in a rocking-chair in a hot bedroom. She was carefully
swathed in a sheet from neck to toes, except for her arms, and she was
being as philosophic as possible. After all, it was a good chance to
think things over. She had very little time to think, generally.

She meant to give up Joe Drummond. She didn't want to hurt him. Well,
there was that to think over and a matter of probation dresses to be
talked over later with her Aunt Harriet. Also, there was a great deal of
advice to K. Le Moyne, who was ridiculously extravagant, before trusting
the house to him. She folded her white arms and prepared to think over
all these things. As a matter of fact, she went mentally, like an arrow
to its mark, to the younger Wilson--to his straight figure in its white
coat, to his dark eyes and heavy hair, to the cleft in his chin when he
smiled.

"You know, I have always been more than half in love with you myself..."

Some one tapped lightly at the door. She was back again in the stuffy
hotel room, clutching the sheet about her.

"Yes?"

"It's Le Moyne. Are you all right?"

"Perfectly. How stupid it must be for you!"

"I'm doing very well. The maid will soon be ready. What shall I order
for supper?"

"Anything. I'm starving."

Whatever visions K. Le Moyne may have had of a chill or of a feverish
cold were dispelled by that.

"The moon has arrived, as per specifications. Shall we eat on the
terrace?"

"I have never eaten on a terrace in my life. I'd love it."

"I think your shoes have shrunk."

"Flatterer!" She laughed. "Go away and order supper. And I can see fresh
lettuce. Shall we have a salad?"

K. Le Moyne assured her through the door that he would order a salad,
and prepared to descend.

But he stood for a moment in front of the closed door, for the mere
sound of her moving, beyond it. Things had gone very far with the Pages'
roomer that day in the country; not so far as they were to go, but far
enough to let him see on the brink of what misery he stood.

He could not go away. He had promised her to stay: