apped in an outward abstraction that concealed a whirl within, went
about her daily tasks, living over and over the scene of the night
before. The shattering of the pitcher seemed to have shattered something
else. Once he had felt, then, as she had done; once--so far away that
night of disaster had gone, so long was it since she had held that
protecting hand in her dreams, that the touch brought a strange
resurrection of the spirit. She had an upwelling new sense of gratitude
to him for something unexpressed, some quality which she passionately
revered, and which other men had not always used toward her.

"Oh, he's good, he's _good_!" she whispered to herself, with the tears
blinding her, as she picked up Redge's blocks from the floor. She felt
Lawson's kisses on her lips, her throat--that cross of shame that she
held always close to her; George Sutton's fat face thrust itself
leeringly before her. How many girls have passages in their lives to
which they look back with the shame that only purity and innocence can
feel! Yet the sense of Girard's presence before was as nothing to her
sense of it now--it blotted out the world. She saw him sitting alone in
the dining-room, with his head resting on his hand, the attitude
informed with life. The turn of his head, the shape of his hand, were
insistent things. She saw him standing in front of her, long-limbed,
erect of mien. She saw--If she looked pale and inert, it was because
that inner thought of her lived so hard that the body was worn out with
it.

Neither telegram nor any other message came from Justin, except the bare
word that he had started home. On the second morning, just as Lois had
finished dressing, she heard the hall door open and shut. She called,
but cautiously, for fear of disturbing her baby, who had dropped off to
sleep again.

Justin was standing by the table, looking at the newspaper, as she
entered the dining-room. With a cry, she ran toward him. "Justin!"

He turned, and she put her arms around him passionately. He held her for
a moment, and then said, "You'd better sit down."

"But, Justin--oh, my dearest, how ill you look!" She clung to him.
"Where have you been? Why didn't you send me any word?"

"I've been to Chicago."

"Yes, yes, I know. Why did you go?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"Lois, will you give me some coffee?"

She poured out the cup with trembling hands, and sat while he took a
swallow of the hot fluid, still scan