ding. "Good Lord! She thinks I have come
here at eight o'clock in the morning to propose!" Horace thought,
with a sort of fury. But he did not speak again at once. He actually
did not know how to begin, what to say. He did not, finally, say
anything. He rose. It seemed to him that he must prevent Rose from
going to drive with Lucy, but he saw no way of doing so.

When he rose it was as if Lucy's face of foolish anticipation of joy
was overclouded. "You are not going so soon?" she stammered.

"I have to get to school early this morning," Horace said, in a harsh
voice. He moved towards the door. Lucy also had risen. She now looked
altogether tragic. The foolish wistfulness was gone. Instead, claws
seemed to bristle all over her tender surface. Suddenly Horace
realized that her slender, wiry body was pressed against his own. He
was conscious of her soft cheek against his. He felt at once in the
grip of a tiger and a woman, and horribly helpless, more helpless
than he had ever been in his whole life. What could he say or do?
Then suddenly the parlor door opened and Mrs. Ayres, Lucy's mother,
stood there. She saw with her stern, melancholy gaze the whole
situation.

"Lucy!" she said.

Lucy started away from Horace, and gazed in a sort of fear and wrath
at her mother.

"Lucy," said Mrs. Ayres, "go up to your own room."

Lucy obeyed. She slunk out of the door and crept weakly up-stairs.
Horace and Mrs. Ayres looked at each other. There was a look of doubt
in the woman's face. For the first time she was not altogether sure.
Perhaps Lucy had been right, after all, in her surmises. Why had
Horace called? She finally went straight to the point.

"What did you come for, Mr. Allen?" said she.

Suddenly Horace thought of the obvious thing to say, the explanation
to give. "Miss Fletcher is thinking of coming later to take Miss Lucy
for a drive," said he.

"And you called to tell her?" said Mrs. Ayres.

Horace looked at her. Mrs. Ayres understood. "Miss Fletcher must come
with a double-seated carriage so that I can go," said she. "My
daughter is very nervous about horses. I never allow her to go to
drive without me."

She observed, with a sort of bitter sympathy, the look of relief
overspread Horace's face. "I will send a telephone message from Mrs.
Steele's, next door, so there will be no mistake," she said.

"Thank you," replied Horace. His face was burning.

Mrs. Ayres went on with a melancholy and tragic calm. "I s