s
phrases with which she had scourged my spirit a few moments before.

But I was sane enough to know that the simple "I beg your pardon" from
the lips of the elder Mrs. Graham was equivalent to a whole torrent of
apologies from any ordinary person. I knew my mother-in-law's type of
mind. To admit she was wrong, to ask for one's forgiveness, was to her
a most bitter thing.

So I put aside from me every other feeling but consideration of the
proud old woman holding my hand, and said gently:

"I can assure you that I cherish no resentment. Let us not speak of it
again."

"I am afraid we shall have to speak of it, at least of the incident
which led me to say the things to you I did," she returned. I saw with
amazement that she was trying to conquer an emotion, the reason for
which I felt certain had something to do with her discovery that the
Underwoods were Dick's friends.

"I have a duty to you to perform," she went on, "a very painful duty,
which involves the reviving of an old controversy with my son. I beg
that you will not try to find out anything concerning its nature. It
is far better that you do not."

I felt smothered, as if I were being swathed in folds upon folds
of black cloth. What could this mystery be, this secret in the past
friendship of my husband and Lillian Gale, the woman whom he had
introduced to me as his best friend, and into whose companionship
and that of her husband, Harry Underwood, he had thrown me as much as
possible.

A hot anger rose within me. What right had anyone to deny knowledge
of such a secret, or to discourage me in any attempt to find out its
nature. I resolved to lose no time in probing the unworthy thing to
its depths.

My mother-in-law's next words crystallized my determination.

"I think I ought to see Richard at once," she said. "I am sorry to
give up our trip. I had quite counted upon seeing some of old New York
today, but I wish to lose no time in seeing him. Besides, I do not
think I am equal to further sightseeing."

"It will be of no use for you to go home," I said smoothly, "for
Richard will not be there, and he has left the studio by now, I am
sure. He has an engagement with an art editor this afternoon. We may
not be able to look at the churches you wished to see, but you ought
to have some luncheon before we go home. I will call a cab and we will
go over to Fraunces's Tavern, one of the most interesting places in
New York. You know Washington said farewel