d retired to re-maroon himself in the rural villa of
his kinsmen, the Allison Paynes, where he halted for a week or two on
his health-seeking progress southward.

It looked like a parting forever, but wasn't, owing to that help which
comes ever to those who help themselves....

To the sensible query, Mrs. Heth, lightening, replied: "Of course, the
gray crepe-de-chine."

"I think so, too. Only there's a rip at the bottom. I'm sure Flora
hasn't touched it since Mr. Avery put his large foot straight
through it."

Having turned from the window, Carlisle yawned and glanced at the clock.
The two ladies conversed desultorily of draped effects, charmeuse, and
why Mattie Allen imagined that she could wear pink. Mrs. Heth ran on
through the "Post." Carlisle put up "Pickwick," by Dickens, sticking in
a box of safety matches to keep the place. Then she examined herself in
the mirror over the mantel, and became intensely interested in a tiny
redness over her left eyebrow. She thought that rubbing in a little
powder, and then rubbing it right off, would help the redness, and
it did.

"I asked Mattie why she said such long prayers in the mornings. That was
what made me late for breakfast. Her feelings were quite hurt. Isn't her
devoutness quaint, though?"

"She uses my house," murmured Mrs. Heth, "like a hotel. One would think
it might occur to her that if she _must_ mummer like a deacon she ought
to get up--"

She broke off, her wandering eye having just then fallen upon the
Arraignment.

"She didn't like our packing her off right after breakfast a bit
either.... I'm devoted to her," said Carlisle, gently rubbing off the
powder, "but there's no denying there's a great deal of the cat
in Mats."

"Hmph!... Why, this is outrageous! I never read such a thing!"

"What is it?" said the daughter, not turning, clearly not interested.

"Here's a man saying he visited the Works with the Labor Commissioner,
and that conditions there are _homicidal!_ I never! Mmm-m-m. Here! 'I
speak particularly of the Heth Cheroot Works, but all four stand almost
equally as burning blots upon the conscience of this community'--"

Carlisle's attention was not diverted from her eyebrow. "The Works! He's
crazy.... Who is the man?"

"A piece in the paper here--let me see. Yes, here's his name. Vivian.
_V. Vivian_! There's no such man!..."

"Oh," said the girl, absently, "it's only some notoriety-seeking
nobody.... Like the man who threw the brick