A wait, during which we could hear through the silence excited
undertones from the upper floors. The words were indistinct until
Joe's heavy voice sent down to us an angry "No damn' nonsense, I tell
you. Allie's got to come, too. She's not such a fool as you think. Bad
example--bosh!"

Anita started up. "Oh--please--please!" she cried. "Take me
away--anywhere! This is dreadful."

It was, indeed, dreadful. If I could have had my way at just that
moment, it would have gone hard with "Mrs. B." and "Allie"--and
heavy-voiced Joe, too. But I hid my feelings. "There's nowhere else to
go," said I, "except the brougham."

She sank helplessly into her chair.

A few minutes more of silence, and there was a rustling on the stairs.
She started up, trembling, looked round, as if seeking some way of
escape or some place to hide. Joe was in the doorway holding aside one
of the curtains. There entered, in a beribboned and beflounced tea
gown, a pretty, if rather ordinary, woman of forty, with a petulant
baby face. She was trying to look reserved and severe. She hardly
glanced at me before fastening sharp, suspicious eyes on Anita.

"Mrs. Ball," said I, "this is Miss Ellersly."

"Miss Ellersly!" she exclaimed, her face changing. And she advanced
and took both Anita's hands. "Mr. Ball is so stupid," she went on,
with that amusingly affected accent which is the "Sunday clothes" of
speech.

"I didn't catch the name, my dear," Joe stammered.

"Be off," said I, aside, to him. "Get the nearest preacher, and hustle
him here with his tools."

I had one eye on Anita all the time, and I saw her gaze follow Joe as
he hurried out; and her expression made my heart ache. I heard him
saying in the hall, "Go in, Allie. It's O. K.;" heard the door slam,
knew we should soon have some sort of minister with us.

"Allie" entered the drawing room. I had not seen her in six years. I
remembered her unpleasantly as a great, bony, florid child, unable to
stand still or to sit still, or to keep her tongue still, full of
aimless questions and giggles and silly remarks, which she and her
mother thought funny. I saw her now, grown into a handsome young
woman, with enough beauty points for an honorable mention, if not for
a prize--straight and strong and rounded, with a brow and a keen look
out of the eyes which it seemed a pity should be wasted on a woman.
Her mother's looks, her father's good sense, a personality got from
neither, but all her own, and