was being appeased.

Chapter XV

While Henry was at Sidney Meeks's, Horace sat alone smoking and
reading the evening paper. He kept looking up from the paper and
listening. He was hoping that Rose, in spite of the fact that she had
not been able to come down to supper, might yet make her appearance.
He speculated on her altered looks and manner at dinner. He could not
help being a little anxious, in spite of all Mrs. Ayres's assurances
and the really vague nature of his own foreboding. He asked himself
if he had had from the beginning anything upon which to base
suspicion. Given the premises of an abnormal girl with a passion for
himself which humiliated him, an abnormal woman like Miss Farrel with
a similar passion, albeit under better control, the melodramatic
phases of the candy, and sudden death, and traces of arsenical
poison, what should be the conclusion?

He himself had eaten some of presumably the same candy with no ill
effects. Mrs. Ayres had assured him of her constant watchfulness over
her daughter, who was no doubt in an alarmingly nervous state, but
was she necessarily dangerous? He doubted if Mrs. Ayres had left the
two girls a moment to themselves during the drive. What possible
reason, after all, had he for alarm?

When he heard Sylvia mounting the stairs, and caught a glimpse of a
little tray borne carefully, he gave up all hope of Rose's coming
down. Presently he went out and walked down the village street,
smoking. As he passed out of the yard he glanced up at Rose's
windows, and saw the bright light behind the curtains. He felt glad
that the girl had a woman like Sylvia to care for her.

As he looked Sylvia's shadow passed between the window and the light.
It had, in its shadowy enlargement, a benignant aspect. There was an
angelic, motherly bend to the vague shoulders. Sylvia was really in
her element. She petted and scolded the girl, whom she found flung
upon her bed like a castaway flower, sobbing pitifully.

"What on earth is the matter?" demanded Sylvia, in a honeyed tone,
which at once stung and sweetened. "Here you are in the dark, crying
and going without your victuals. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

As she spoke Sylvia struck a match and lit the lamp. Rose buried her
face deeper in the bed.

"I don't want any lamp," she gasped.

"Don't want any lamp? Ain't you ashamed of yourself? I should think
you were a baby. You are going to have a lamp, and you are going to
s