eaded the newspapers and
the notoriety which would inevitably follow any attempt on either
side to obtain a divorce. She dreamed about it often, and woke in
terror, having still before her eyes the great, black letters on the
first pages of city papers. She had never seen Wollaston Lee since
she had lived in Amity. She had never even heard anything about him
except once, when somebody had mentioned his name and spoken of
seeing him at a reception, and that he was a professor in one of the
minor colleges. She did not wish ever to repeat that experience. Her
heart had seemed to stand still, and she had grown so white that a
lady beside her asked her hurriedly if she were faint. Maria had
thrown off the faintness by a sheer effort of will, and the color had
returned to her face, and she had laughingly replied with a denial.
Sometimes she thought uneasily of Gladys Mann. The clergyman who, in
his excess of youthful zeal, had performed the ceremony was dead. She
had seen his obituary notice in a New York paper with a horrible
relief. He had died quite suddenly in one of the pneumonia winters.
But Gladys Mann and her possession of the secret troubled her. Gladys
Mann, as she remembered her, had been such a slight, almost abortive
character. She asked herself if she could keep such a secret, if she
would have sense enough to do so. Gladys had married, too, a man of
her own sort, who worked fitfully, and spent most of his money in
carousing with John Dorsey and her father. Gladys had had a baby a
few months after her marriage, and she had had two more since. The
last time Maria had been in Amity was soon after Gladys's first baby
was born. Maria had met her one day carrying the little thing swathed
in an old shawl, with a pitiful attempt of finery in a white lace
bonnet cocked sidewise on its little head, which waggled over
Gladys's thin shoulder. Gladys, when she saw Maria, had colored and
nodded, and almost run past her without a word.

It was just before the beginning of Evelyn's last year at school when
Maria received a letter from Gladys's mother. It was a curious
composition. Mrs. Mann had never possessed any receptivity for
education. The very chirography gave evidence of a rude, almost
uncivilized mind. Maria got it one night during the last of August.
She had gone to the post-office for the last mail, and all the time
there had been over her a premonition of something unwonted of much
import to her. The very dusty flo