where was
Vanya?... Oh, yes.... Last night Vanya was away ... in Baltimore.

The paper dropped to her lap; she sat looking straight ahead of her.

What had so shocked her then about Jim and Marya being together? True,
she had not supposed them to be on such terms--had not even thought
about it....

Yes, she _had_ thought about it, scarcely conscious of her own
indefinable uneasiness--a memory, perhaps, of that evening when the
Russian girl had been at little pains to disguise her interest in this
man. And Palla had noticed it--noticed that Marya was seated too near
him--noticed that, and the subtle attitude of provocation, and the
stealthy evolution of that occult sorcery which one woman instantly
divines in another and finds slightly revolting.

Was it merely that memory which had been evoked when Puma's laughing
revelation so oddly chilled her?--the suspected and discovered
predilection of this Russian girl for Jim? Or was it something else,
something deeper, some sudden and more profound illumination which
revealed to her that, in the depths of her, she was afraid?

Afraid? Afraid of what?

Her charming young head sank; the brown eyes stared at the floor.

She was beginning to understand what had chilled her, what she had
unconsciously been afraid of--_her own creed!_--when applied to
another woman.

And this was the second time that this creed of hers had risen to
confront her, and the second time she had gazed at it, chilled by
fear: once, when she had waited for Ilse to return; and now once
again.

For now she began to comprehend how ruthless that creed could become
when professed by such a girl as Marya Lanois.

* * * * *

She was still seated there when Marya came in, her tiger-red hair in
fascinating disorder from the wind, her skin fairly breathing the warm
fragrance of exotic youth.

"My Palla! How pale you seem!" she exclaimed, embracing her. "You are
quite well? Really? Then I am reassured!"

She went to the mirror and tucked in a burnished strand or two of
hair.

"These Chicago ladies--they have not arrived, I see. Am I then so
early? For I see that Ilse is not yet here----"

"It is only a quarter to eight," said Palla, smiling; but the brown
eyes were calmly measuring this lithe and warm and lovely thing with
green eyes--measuring it intently--taking its measure--taking, for the
first time in her life, her measure of any woman.

"Was Vanya's