good friends for that, dear Mrs. Percival. One needs a
little something unexplored and unexpected in a lover; don't you think
so? Dick and I knew each other in kilts and pig-tails."

"Well, it seems I am as much of an old fool as Dick is a young one,"
Mrs. Percival said bitterly. "I'm good for nothing but to lie here and
comfort myself with dreams."

"You're an old dear, and Dick is a young one," Madeline tried to laugh.
"And Miss Quincy is exquisite--charming."

"An old fool," repeated Mrs. Percival. "Now listen, sweetheart! If Dick
marries this girl, I have no intention of forgetting that he is my son,
and that she is his wife. I shall do all I can to help her to be worthy
of him; but before that happens, I am going to have the satisfaction of
speaking to just one person in the world--you--exactly what I think
about it. From what Mrs. Lenox told me, after her visit in the country,
and from what I saw myself, I think she is a vulgar little image
overlaid with tinsel."

"Oh, don't!" Madeline cried. "You and I do not really know her, but we
can trust Dick. He's too fine himself to be attracted by anything but
fineness. She must have character to have made the fight she has with
fate."

"Attracted by character! Pins and figs! My son is just like all the
others, I am finding. He's attracted by pink flesh. And as for heart
and soul--all the women that Dick has known well have been women of
refinement. He takes their purity and nobility for granted, as a part of
womanhood. He thinks he's marrying you and me. His reason has nothing to
do with it."

For the moment Madeline had no answer, and Mrs. Percival went on:

"It's foolish to care what people say about your tragedies. Oh, you
needn't shake your head. This is a tragedy, Madeline. And I do care
about the world. I hate to think of the whispering and gossiping because
my son--my son--has fallen a victim to a cheap adventuress."

"Nonsense," Madeline broke out. "Miss Quincy isn't an outcast, just
because she has had the world's cold shoulder. And people aren't so
silly as to let such external things prejudice them."

"Don't mistake me, dearie. I'm not taking exception to the girl because
she works. We're all--those of us that are good for much--the mothers
and wives and daughters of men who work, and we share in their labor. I
could admire and love a real worker, but this butterfly creature affects
me like a parasite--a woman who wants to get and not to give. It's j