there's a difference in women. And the Annabel Sinclair
kind, with brains enough to keep 'em from being downright bad and not
enough conscience to make 'em good, are the worst of the lot. If the
devil couldn't count on their help in laying traps for good men, he'd
be dreadful handicapped."

She swept the tears from her cheeks with a swift gesture, swallowed
those which had not yet fallen and fell to sewing frantically for there
were steps outside. But the late caller was not Justin Ware as for the
moment she had feared, but Mrs. West entering with the ponderous
dignity inseparable from two hundred pounds avoirdupois. Persis rose
hastily and pulled forward the big armchair, her action due to a
well-grounded fear for her furniture in addition to the impulse of her
native courtesy.

"Set down, Mis' West. You're looking first-rate."

"If I am it's more than I feel," the stout woman returned in a hollow
voice. "I'm so worried about Thad that I wonder there's anything left
of me."

Persis, politely forbearing to call attention to the fact that enough
of Mrs. West remained for all practical purposes, regarded her friend
with kindly concern. "My, is Annabel Sinclair pestering that boy yet?
I thought--"

"Persis, it's not Annabel now. It's the young one--Diantha."

"Oh!" Persis resumed her sewing, with heightened color.

"Yes. I used to think he was as crazy about that woman as anybody
could well be, but that wasn't to be named in the same day with the
state he's in now. He goes around as if he was in a sort of daze.
Sometimes I have to ask him three times over if he'll have another
helping of pie."

"Well, it may not be sensible, Mis' West, but it's nature. I guess
there's nothing to do except put up with it."

"But, Persis, she's so young."

"She's younger than her mother, that's sure. And that's in her favor."

"And she's Annabel Sinclair's daughter."

"Well, that's better'n if she was somebody's wife."

"It's easy for you to make light of it, Persis. But if he was your
boy--" Mrs. West produced a voluminous handkerchief from about her
person, hid her face in its folds and sobbed.

"If he was my boy, Mis' West, I guess I'd act as foolish as other
mothers. But seeing he ain't, I can look at the affair kind of
detached and sensible. I don't suppose you're especially set up over
the idea of Diantha Sinclair for a daughter-in-law, but if mothers
picked out wives for their sons, there'd be might