ere was in
her manner an ingenious suggestion of having in mind the recent
heart-broken confidences of Thad's mother, and Etta West blushed hotly
and changed the subject.

Mrs. Robert Hornblower looked upon the acquisition as practical
rebellion against the decrees of Providence. In Persis' presence, she
said little, having a sincere respect for her ex-dressmaker's gift of
repartee. But to Mr. Hornblower, she expressed herself in no uncertain
terms.

"If it's the Lord's will for a woman to raise a family, it stands to
reason He'll send her a husband. This snapping your fingers in the
face of the Almighty and gathering up children from here and there and
anywhere, looks downright impious."

"Seems to me," began Mr. Hornblower in mild expostulation, "that Persis
Dale--"

"Yes, I know, Robert," interrupted the submissive wife. "I feel just
as you do. It's always been Persis Dale's greatest fault to imagine
that she's a law unto herself. But this time she's overstepped the
mark."

"Those children are orphans," exclaimed Mr. Hornblower, his complexion
becoming apoplectic. "And if--"

In another instant he would have spoken his mind. Only by raising her
voice so his next words became inaudible, did his wife avoid that
catastrophe.

"I don't wonder you're shocked, Robert," said Mrs. Hornblower, "to
think of her bringing into Clematis children of nobody knows who, to
grow up with our own boys and girls and as like as not lead 'em astray.
All I can say is that Persis Dale may have a lot to answer for some
day."

Though Mrs. Hornblower's stand was somewhat extreme she was not without
her supporters. Thomas Hardin's sister, Mrs. Gibson, declared with
unconcealed rancor that Persis would have done better to think about
getting a husband before interesting herself in securing a family.
Mrs. Richards, with sanctimonious rolling of her eyes, admitted that
she had recognized long before an inherent coarseness in the character
of Persis Dale. Others like Annabel Sinclair exclaimed over the folly
of burdening one's self with juvenile responsibilities when free to
seek distraction wherever one pleased.

Diantha did not agree with her mother. Ever since the memorable
occasion when, with the dressmaker's connivance, she had startled
Clematis by growing up between noon and supper-time, she had been one
of Persis' attendant satellites. But after the advent of the children
she fairly haunted the establishment. She dr