to this. Don't you see how it is?"

He couldn't see how it was, that was plain enough. What he very
reasonably expected was that after so lucid an explanation, she would
turn her wet face up to his, with her old wide smile on it. But that was
not what happened at all. Instead, she just went limp in his arms, and
the sobs that shook her seemed to be meeting no resistance whatever. It
wasn't like her to work herself up in that way over trifles, either;
yet, surely a trifle was all this could be called--a laughable mistake
he couldn't help loving her for, or a touching demonstration of
affection that he couldn't help smiling at. Either way you took it, it
was nothing to make a scene about. Where was her sense of humor? That
was the thing to do--get her quiet first, and then persuade her to laugh
at the whole affair with him.

He was saved from carrying out this program by the fact that Rose, of
her own accord, anticipated him. At least she controlled, rather
suddenly, her sobs, sat up, wiped her eyes and, after a fashion, smiled.
Not at him, though; resolutely away from him, he might almost have
thought--as if she didn't want him to see.

"That's right," he said, craning round to make sure that the smile was
there. "Have a look at the funny side of it."

She winced at that as from a blow and pulled herself away from him.
Then she controlled herself and, in answer to his look of troubled
amazement, said:

"It's all right. Only it happens that you're the one who d-doesn't know
how awfully funny it really is." Her voice shook, but she got it in hand
again. "No, I don't mean anything by that. Here! Give me a kiss and then
let me wash my face."

And for the whole evening, and again next morning until he left the
house, she managed to keep him in the only half-questioning belief that
nothing was the matter.

It was about an hour after that, that her maid came into her bedroom,
where she had had her breakfast, and said that Miss Stanton wanted to
see her.

CHAPTER VI

THE DAMASCUS ROAD

It argued no real lack of sisterly affection that Rose didn't want to
see Portia that morning. Even if there had been no other reason, being
found in bed at half past ten in the morning by a sister who inflexibly
opened her little shop at half past eight, regardless of bad weather,
backaches and other potentially valid excuses, was enough to make one
feel apologetic and worthless. Rose could truthfully say that she was
feeli