a beloved lost child, to be wept over,
succored only through her efforts. She must never forget! "Lawson, I
believe in you." She stopped in the shaded, quiet street with its
garden-surrounded houses, and said the words aloud with a solemn sense
of immortal infinite power, before coming back to the eager surface
planning of her own life, with an intermediate throb of a new and
deeper loneliness. The Dosia who had so upliftingly faced truth had
only strength enough left now to evade it. Perhaps some of that
exquisite inner perception of her nature had been jarred confusingly
out of touch.

Mrs. Wayne was in, although, the maid announced, she had but just
returned from town. A moment later Dosia heard herself called from
above:

"Dosia Linden! Won't you come up-stairs? You don't mind, do you?"

"No, indeed," answered Dosia, obeying the summons with alacrity, and
pleased that she should be considered so intimate. This was more than
she had expected--an informal reception and talk. With Dosia's own
responsive warmth, she felt that she really must always have wanted to
see more of Alice, who, in her lacy pink-and-white negligee, might be
pardoned for wishing to show off this ornament of her trousseau.

"I hope you won't mind the appearance of this room," she announced,
after a hospitable violet-perfumed embrace. "I went to town so early
this morning that I didn't have time to really set things to rights,
and I don't like the new maid to touch them."

"You have so many pretty things," said Dosia admiringly.

"Yes, haven't I? Take that seat by the window; it's cooler. _Please_
don't look at that dressing-table; Harry leaves his neckties
everywhere, though he has his own chiffonnier in the other room--he's
such a _bad_ boy! He seems to think I have nothing to do but put away
his things for him."

Mrs. Wayne paused with a bridal air of important matronly
responsibility. She was a tall, thin, black-haired, dashing girl, not
at all pretty, who was always spoken of compensatingly as having a
great deal of "style"; but she seemed to have gained some new and
gentle charm of attraction because she was so happy.

"Have this fan, won't you?" she went on talking. "Harry and I saw you
and George Sutton out walking yesterday. We were in the motor, and had
stopped up on the Drive to speak to Mr. Girard. He _is_ just the
loveliest thing! What a pity he won't go where there are girls! Harry
is quite jealous, though I tell him he nee