ly up the walk and into the empty hall. She stood an
instant, her hands clasped before her breast, her eyes closed, her face
still and clear. Then she moved upstairs like one in a dream.

As she passed her mother's door she started violently, and for an
instant had no breath to answer. Some one had called her name
laughingly.

Finally, "Yes," she answered without stirring.

"Oh, come in, come in!" cried Marietta mockingly. "We know all about
everything. We heard you come up the street, and saw you philandering on
the front walk. And for all it's so dark, we made out that Paul kissed
your hand when he went away."

There was a silence in the hall. Then Lydia appeared in the door. Mrs.
Emery gave a scream. "Why, Lydia! what makes you look so queer?"

They turned startled, inquiring, daunting faces upon her. It was the
baptism of fire to Lydia. The battle, inevitable for her, had begun. She
faced it; she did not take refuge in the safe, silent lie which opened
before her, but her courage was a piteous one. In her utter heartsick
shrinking from the consequences of her answer she had a premonition of
the weakness that was to make the combat so unequal. "It was not Paul,"
she said, pale in the doorway; "it was Daniel Rankin."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BOOK II

IN THE LOCOMOTIVE CAB

CHAPTER XI

WHAT IS BEST FOR LYDIA

The girls who were to be debutantes that season, the "crowd" or (more
accurately to quote Madeleine Hollister's racy characterization) "the
gang," stood before Hallam's drug store, chattering like a group of
bright-colored paroquets. They had finished three or four ice-cream
sodas apiece, and now, inimitably unconscious that they were on the
street corner, they were "getting up" a matinee party for the
performance of the popular actress whom, at that time, it was the
fashion for all girls of their age and condition to adore. They had
worked themselves up to a state of hysteric excitement over the
prospect.

A tall brown-eyed blonde, with the physical development of a woman and
the facial expression of a child of twelve, cried out, "I feel as though
I should swoon for joy to see that darling way she holds her hands when
the leading man's making love to her--so sort of helpless--like this--"

"Oh, Madeleine, that's not a _bit_ the way. It's so!"

The first speaker protested, "Well, I gue