ungerford."

Serena, who, like the captain, did not understand a great deal of
all this, decided to change the subject. She did not address her
husband--she had not spoken to him since the scene in the room
upstairs--but the exaltation and triumph which the evening just passed
had brought to her soul now burst forth. She began to describe the
Chapter's meeting and to tell of her great success at Atterbury, and
the enthusiastic reception by the Scarford members of her report. Mr.
Hungerford seized the opportunity to deprive the family of his society.
He was rather tired, he explained, had a bit of writing to do before
retiring, and, if they would excuse him, would go to his room. Being
excused, with reluctance on Mrs. Dott's part and silence on the part of
Gertrude and her father, he said good-night and withdrew.

"And now, Mother," said Gertrude, "tell me more about yourself, and
about the Chapter, and the friends you have made, and everything. Father
has told me a little, and your letters and his have told me more, but I
want to know it all. I am very much interested."

Serena did not need to be asked twice. She told a great deal, warming to
her subject as she proceeded. She told of their arrival in Scarford, of
the kindness shown by the Blacks and Mrs. Lake and the rest. "Wonderful
women, Gertie! brilliant, intellectual, advanced thinkers, every one of
them. Not much like Abigail Mayo and the rest at Trumet."

She told of their adventures in society, of the Blacks' dinner, of the
reception, of her bridge lessons. Gertrude listened, saying nothing, but
watching both her parents intently as the narrative proceeded.

Daniel, fidgeting in his chair, waited, nervously expectant, for the
protest which he felt sure his daughter might make at any moment. But no
protest came. Only once did the young lady interrupt, and then it was to
ask a question.

"I suppose Daddy enjoys all this as much as you do, Mother?" she said.
"Doesn't he?"

Mrs. Dott's expression changed. The radiant joy, which had illumined her
face as she described her progress at bridge, faded, and she seemed on
the verge of tears.

"Don't, Gertie," she begged. "Don't ask me about your father, please.
Enjoy it? No, he doesn't enjoy it at all. He has no sympathy for my aims
and ambitions. He takes no pride in my advancement. To-night--only this
very night, he said to me--Oh, I can't tell you what he said! Don't ask
me, please."

Captain Dan almost slipp