Dear me! I can remember when everybody
went to church on Sunday and then walked up and down Fifth Avenue. Fifth
Avenue had trees then instead of shops and on the trees were such funny
little worms. They used to hang down and crawl on you. The houses, too,
were so nice. They all had piazzas and on the piazzas were honeysuckles.
But I fear I am boasting. I don't really remember all that. It was my
father who told me. Those must have been the good old days!"

Lennox again shifted his stick. "To-day I had hoped that you would look
in on me."

The flute caressed the strain. "Yes. It was too bad! We had quite
counted on it. Bachelor quarters must be so exciting."

"Well, not mine at any rate. They are rather dark."

"But that must make them all the more exciting! Blindman's buff! Hide
and go seek! What fun you must have with your friends romping about!"

"My friends are too busy for that. Though to-day----"

"Yes?"

Lennox hesitated. He knew that this woman took no interest in him
whatever, but he had intended to tell Margaret about Cassy.

Pleasantly Mrs. Austen prodded him. "Yes?"

"Nothing of any moment. This afternoon, Miss Cara, the girl who sang
last night, came to see me. You may remember I told you I knew her
father."

"It seems to me I do."

"Things have not gone well there and I advanced her a trifle for him."

Mrs. Austen unfurled her fan. It was all Honest Injun. She had not a
doubt of it and never had. But if she had thought it a Sioux and
Comanche story, it would have been the same to her.

"I am sorry you did not meet her," Lennox continued. "You might have
lent her a hand."

"Professionally, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I might have her sing here," replied Mrs. Austen, who would have seen
Cassy hanged first.

Lennox considered the picture: Mrs. Austen in the role of shepherdess,
herding for Cassy's benefit the flock of sheep that society is. But the
picture did not detain him. He stood up.

"That would be very good of you. Please tell Margaret I am sorry she has
a headache and that I will look in on her to-morrow."

No you won't, thought Mrs. Austen, who said: "Yes, do."

In a moment, when he had gone, she looked again in the mirror. It showed
her a woman who would not steal, unless she could do so undetectably; a
woman who would not forge, because she did not know how. Crimes
ridiculous or merely terrific she was too shrewd to commit. But there
are crimes that the law cannot reach. There ar