only gaze at her in profound perplexity.

"I'm afraid, I don't know quite what you mean," he said slowly.

So absorbed was she with her grief that she did not appear to have heard
him. "You know how malicious they both are," she wailed, "and both of
them coming at the same time meant something. 'Talking of butterflies'?
Edith Symmes said in that way of hers, 'Well, Mrs. Oldham, you needn't
put on such airs because Marcia has the loveliest set in town; nor you,
Mrs. Ames, because you're thinking of ordering a set, for I'm going to
have a set myself,' Oh, you see, it meant something."

"Mrs. Oldham," said Hayden with the calmness of desperation, "will you
not kindly tell me just what you mean? I am utterly and entirely at sea."

"They mustn't know the secret of those detestable butterflies," she
answered miserably.

"What secret, Mrs. Oldham?"

"Why, the way Marcia is involved. Oh," weeping afresh, "it's too, too
much. Oh, if Mr. Oldham were only here!"

It was impossible to get a coherent explanation from her, and Hayden felt
as if he could bear no more. He had only one desire, one longing, to
escape, to be alone, to sit down in some quiet spot, and try to pull
himself together sufficiently to think things out.

"Dear Mrs. Oldham," he said gently, "I am convinced that you are worrying
yourself unnecessarily. Won't you go home now and rest, and let me see
you this evening or to-morrow? I am sure you will then take a calmer view
of the matter. I am going to leave you now. I have some business matters
which must be attended to at once. Good-by."

CHAPTER XVIII

By the time Hayden had reached his own door his nerves were steadied and
his poise somewhat restored. He felt sore and bruised in spirit, however,
and desired nothing so much as to sit by himself for a time and think
out, if possible, some satisfactory arrangement of this tormenting
matter. But, as he threw open the door of his library with a sensation of
relief at the prospect of a period of unbroken solitude, he stopped
short, barely repressing the strong language which rose involuntarily to
his lips.

In spite of the fact that spring had at last made her coy and reluctant
debut, there had been a sharp change in the weather and winter again held
the center of the stage. Regardful of this fact, Tatsu had built a
roaring fire in the library to cheer Hayden's home-coming. The flames
crackled up the chimney and cast ruddy reflections on the furnitur