that she hardly heard his reply.

"'I never seen the like for growin','" he quoted, his eyes shining with
pride in her. He was a reticent man by nature as well as by training;
he could not have SAID how beautiful, how wonderful he thought her, or
how intensely he loved her. The most he could do to express himself to
her was, a little shyly, to pat her hand--and to LOOK it into
Mordecai's back.

She was about to snuggle up to him as a wave of delight at being home
again swept over her; but her secret rushed from the background of her
mind. "How could I have done it? How can I tell them?" Then, the
serene and beautiful kindness of her father's face reassured her.

Her mother was waiting in the open front door as the surrey came up the
drive--still the same dear old-young mother, with the same sweet
dignity and gentleness.

"Oh, mother, mother!" exclaimed Pauline, leaping from the carriage into
her arms. And as they closed about her she felt that sorrow and evil
could not touch her; felt just as when she, a little girl, fleeing from
some frightful phantom of her own imagining, had rushed there for
safety. She choked, she sobbed, she led her mother to the big sofa
opposite the stairway; and, sitting there, they held each the other
tightly, Pauline kissing her, smoothing her hair, she caressing Pauline
and crying softly.

"We've got a surprise for you, Polly," said she, when they were calmer.

"I don't want anything but you and father," replied Pauline.

Her father turned away--and so she did not see the shadow deepen in his
face. Her mother shook her head, mischief in her eyes that were young
as a girl's--younger far than her daughter's at that moment. "Go into
the sitting-room and see," she said.

Pauline opened the sitting-room door. John Dumont caught her in his
arms. "Polly!" he exclaimed. "It's all right. They've come round
and--and--here I am!"

Pauline pushed him away from her and sank to the floor in a faint.

When she came to herself she was lying on the divan in the
sitting-room. Her mother was kneeling beside her, bathing her temples
with cold water; her father and her husband were standing, helplessly
looking at her. "Send him away," she murmured, closing her eyes.

Only her mother heard. She motioned to the two men to leave the room.
When the door closed Pauline sat up.

"He said it was all right," she began feverishly. "What did he mean,
mother?" She was hoping she was to be sp