artily.
Then she became very grave and declared it a splendid thing and that she
was delighted because Azuba had found her opportunity. She was entitled
to that opportunity, as was every free woman, and certainly neither
Gertrude or her mother, being "free women" themselves, must offer
objection or permit mere household drudgery to interfere.

So Azuba "advanced" and preached and went out at night and occasionally
during the day. Gertrude and Serena went out all the time, when they
were not entertaining themselves. Life became a never-ending round
of politics and society functions, followed by, on Mrs. Dott's part,
sleepless nights and "nerves" and fretful worriment concerning Gertrude.
Gertrude did not appear to worry. She grew gayer and more gay, more
careless in her manner and more slangy in her speech. Mr. Holway
continued to call and Cousin Percy to dance solicitous attendance. John
Doane's name was never mentioned in his fiancee's presence. She would
not speak, or permit others to speak, of him.

And then Mr. Holway ceased to call. His final call was a lengthy
one, and he and Gertrude were alone during the latter part of it. The
following day Daniel met him on the street and was barely recognized.
The captain was not greatly troubled at the slight--he did not care
greatly for the lively Monty--but he was surprised. When he mentioned
the meeting to his daughter the young lady smiled, but offered no
explanation. Her father did not press the point. As Holway came no
more and it became apparent that he was not coming, the captain was
satisfied.

Gertrude's strange behavior alarmed and troubled him, but his wife's ill
health and her worn, weary expression alarmed him more. He was actually
frightened concerning her.

"Oh, Serena," he begged, "what makes you do it? It isn't worth it.
You're killin' yourself. Let's give it up and go somewhere and rest. The
Queen of Sheba's job ain't worth it, let alone just bein' vice-president
of Scarford Chapter."

But Serena shook her head. "I can't give it up, Daniel," she declared
hysterically. "I--I think I would if I could. I really do. Sometimes I
feel as if I would give up everything just to be at peace and happy and
contented again."

"You bet!" with enthusiasm. "So would I. And we were contented at
Trumet, wasn't we? That is, I was; and you was enough sight better
contented than you are now."

"I know, I know. But I can't give it up, Daniel. Don't you see? I can't!
I