o once more. Sophy Chesney and Sophy Loring were poor,
wind-driven waifs, somewhere far away in the outer deserts of her mind.
To-morrow Charlotte and Joe wished "to talk _very_ seriously with her."
This had been Charlotte's parting word that night. Well--to-morrow was
twelve hours away. Now she would just be Sophy Taliaferro.

* * * * *

But she waked up next morning to find herself unmistakably Sophy Loring
once more.

Her heart was very heavy. Life had no taste. The future rose before her
like a cyclopean wall, which could not be scaled or dug under and in
which there was no door.

Her heart winced and shrank from the long, painful scenes with Morris
that she apprehended. She was quite sure that he had no real love left
for her, yet she knew his nature. She feared that the very fact of
finding himself about to lose her would kindle in him a fictitious
ardour. It might well be that, as the unattainable, she would once more
seem his heart's desire.

After breakfast she went with Joe and Charlotte to Joe's study. Bobby
and Winks were having a gorgeous time playing "Indians" all over the
place. As she sat in the open window, Sophy could hear the voices of the
two "Braves," rising in shrill, ecstatic warwhoops from the straw-stack
near the stables. She smiled. At least Bobby was thoroughly happy in the
new state of things.

She was seated on the low window-ledge, Charlotte opposite her. The
Judge had established himself in the revolving chair before his desk. He
felt the need of some strong, dignified background during the coming
interview. His sombre, official-looking desk, with its piles of legal
documents and tomes, afforded him this spiritual sustainment. He was
very nervous. Sophy was so "hard to tackle" sometimes. "Rash" was the
disconcerting adjective that kept rising in his mind. Sophy was so
"almighty rash"! He thanked his stars that rashness was not Charlotte's
characteristic. "Firmness" described his helpmeet. He felt that this
firmness would indeed make her a true helpmeet in the present case.
There was certainly no help coming from Sophy herself. She was (they
both thought) most inconsiderately waiting for them to "begin."

The day was exquisitely temperate and golden after last night's showers.
She had put on one of her old duck skirts and thin white blouses. Her
hair was "clubbed" and fastened with a black bow as of old. She was,
outwardly at least, even defiantly Soph