han on the edge of a marble
pool.

As she entered, Evans was brushing the last traces of powder from a
little diamond bracelet less modern than the other pieces. Lydia took it
in her hand.

"I almost forgot I had that," she said.

Three or four years before, when she had first known Bobby Dorset, when
they had been very young, he had given it to her. It had been his
mother's, and she had worn it constantly for a year or so. An impulse of
tenderness made her slip it on her arm now, and as it clung there like a
living pressure the heavy feeling of it faintly revived a whole cycle of
old emotions. She thought to herself that she had some human affections
after all.

"It ought to be reset, miss," said Evans. "The gold spoils the
diamonds."

"You do keep my things beautifully, Evans."

The girl colored at the praise, not often given by her rapidly moving
young mistress, and the muscles twitched in her throat.

"A hat--any hat, Evans."

She pulled it on with one quick, level glance in the glass, and was gone
with the bracelet, half forgotten, on her arm.

During the few minutes that Lydia had been upstairs a conflict had gone
on in the mind of Miss Bennett downstairs. Should she be offended or
should she be superior? Was it more dignified to be angry because she
really could not allow herself to be treated like that? Or should she
forgive because she was obviously so much older and wiser than Lydia?

She decided--as she always did--in favor of forgiveness, and as she
heard Lydia's quick light footsteps crossing the hall she called out,
"Don't drive the little car too fast!"

"Not over sixty," Lydia's voice answered.

As she sprang into the gray runabout waiting at the door with its front
wheels turned invitingly outward, pressed on the self-starter with her
foot, slid the gears in without a sound, it looked as if she intended
her reply to be taken literally. But the speedometer registered only
thirty on her own drive--thirty-five as she straightened out on the
highway. As she said, she never drove fast without a good reason.

Like most people of her type and situation, Lydia was habitually late.
The reason she gave to herself was that she crowded a little more
activity into the twenty-four hours than those who managed to be on
time. But the true reason was that she preferred to be waited for rather
than to run any risk of waiting herself. It seemed a distinct
humiliation to her that she should await anyone el