nted time to think, not as one
thinks in darkness, when one painful subject, thrown out of perspective,
assumes exaggerated proportions of importance, but in clear, sane
sunlight, surrounded by the reassuring evidences of every-day living.

[Sidenote: Madame's View of the Case]

Obviously she could not speak to either. She could not say to Alden: "I
saw you last night with Edith in your arms and that sort of thing will
not do." Nor could she say to Edith: "My dear, you must remember that
you are a married woman." She must not only wait for confidences, but
must keep from them both, for ever, the fact that she had accidentally
stumbled upon their divine moment.

After long thought, and eager to be just, she held Edith practically
blameless, yet, none the less, earnestly wished that she would go home.
She smiled whimsically, wishing that there were a social formula in
which, without offence, one might request an invited guest to depart.
She wondered that one's home must be continually open, when other places
are permitted to close. The graceful social lie, "Not at home," had
never appealed to Madame. Why might not one say, truthfully: "I am sorry
you want to see me, for I haven't the slightest desire in the world to
see you. Please go away." Or, to an invited guest: "When I asked you to
come I wanted to see you, but I have seen quite enough of you for the
present, and would be glad to have you go home."

[Sidenote: A Wearisome Day]

Her reflections were cut short by the appearance of Edith herself, wan
and weary, very pale, but none the less transfigured by secret joy. Her
eyes, alight with mysterious fires, held in their starry depths a world
of love and pain. In some occult way she suggested to Madame a light
burning before a shrine.

Edith did not care for breakfast but forced herself to eat a little. She
responded to Madame's polite inquiries in monosyllables, and her voice
was faint and far away. Yes, she was well. No, she had not slept until
almost morning. No, nothing was making her unhappy--that was, nothing
new. After all, perhaps she did have a headache. Yes, she believed she
would lie down. It was very kind of Madame but she did not believe she
wanted any luncheon and certainly would not trouble anyone to bring it
up.

Yet at noon, when Madame herself appeared with a tempting tray, Edith
gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. She was not lying down, but was
sitting in her low rocker, with her hands claspe