t "office business" which had brought
Maurice to that porch!

On Maple Street the heat blazed up from the untidy pavement, and a harsh
wind was whirling little spirals of dust up and down the dry gutter.
Eleanor's heart was beating so smotheringly that when her first ring was
answered she could scarcely speak: "Does Mrs. Dale live here?"

"No," said the girl who opened the door, "there ain't nobody by that
name livin' here."

And at the next door: "Mrs. Dale? No. This is Mrs. Mahoney's house."

It was at the sixth house, where some dusty pansies were drying up
under the little bay window, that a woman whose red, soapy hands had
just left the wash tub, said:

"Some folks with that name lived here before I took the house. But they
moved away. She was real nice; used to give candy to the children round
here. She was a widow lady. She told me her husband's name was Joseph.
Was it her you was looking for?"

"I don't know her husband's name," Eleanor said.

"Her baby had measles when mine did," the woman went on; "I lived across
the street, then. But I took a fancy to the house, because she'd papered
the parlor so handsome, so I moved in the first of May, when she got
out."

A little cold, prickling thrill ran down Eleanor's back. She had told
herself that "Maurice had a secret"; but she had not really believed
that the secret was about Mrs. Dale. She had been sure, in the bottom of
her heart, that she would be able to "prove" that the woman he had been
talking to that day was not Mrs. Dale.

Now, she had proved--that she was.

Eleanor swayed a little, and put her hand out to clutch at the porch
railing. The woman exclaimed:

"Come in and sit down! I'll get you a glass of water."

Eleanor followed her into the kitchen and sat down on a wooden chair.
She was silent, but she whitened slowly. The mistress of the house,
scared at her pallor, ran to draw a tumbler of water from the faucet in
the sink; she held it to Eleanor's lips, apologizing for her wet hands:

"I was tryin' to get my wash out.... Where do you feel bad?"

"It's so hot, that's all," Eleanor said, faintly: "I--I'm not
ill--thank you very much." She tried to smile, but the ruthless glare of
sunshine through the open kitchen door showed her face strained, as if
in physical suffering.

"I'm awfully sorry I can't tell you where Mrs. Dale lives," the woman
said, sympathetically. "Was she a friend of yours?" Eleanor shook her
head. "There! I'll tell y