raw you."

Mrs. Lenox went away with a deep breath and a longing for fresh air. She
shook her head at the waiting coachman and said, "I am going to walk,
Emil."

She moved along in a cloud of conjectures, not that the small paragraph
seemed to her very important, but she was a little sickened by the
sudden glimpse of petty minds, who, being rich, stay by preference in
the slums.

"Mrs. Quincy, like Mrs. Percival, makes me feel that life is not a big
thing to be lived for some big reason, but an affair to be scrambled
through day by day, grabbing everything you can, and hating those who
have grabbed more. What a way to worry through seventy or eighty years!"
she groaned to herself.

Almost at her own door she met Ram Juna, who turned with her to make one
of his ponderous calls, while she sat and talked with him of emptiness
and philosophy, with that vivacious patience that becomes a habit with
women of the world; but when the door opened and her husband appeared,
accompanied by Dick Percival and Ellery Norris she heaved a distinct
sigh of relief.

"We know that the dinner hour is looming on the horizon, and we're not
going to stay," said Dick. "But your husband has some civic reform
monographs that I thought I would borrow while he was in the lending
mood."

"You needn't apologize, Dick," she laughed. "You are more than tolerated
in this house."

There came a sharp noise, and Madeline Elton, with pale face and eyes
big, stood in the doorway. Every one knew that something had happened,
and Mrs. Lenox, who saw the rolled magazine in the nervous hand, guessed
its purport in a flash.

"My dear girl!" she cried, running forward, "you are not going to let
such a pin-prick hurt you!"

"Oh, Vera," exclaimed the girl, putting her face down on her friend's
shoulder, "you know! It does hurt. I can't help it," and she sobbed.

The three men looked on in puzzled helpless masculinity, and the Swami
surveyed the scene as the two women clung to each other.

"Vera," said Mr. Lenox, "are we permitted to know what this means?" Mrs.
Lenox kept her arm around Madeline's shoulder as she turned.

"It's only an ugly little fling in the _Chatterer_, Frank," she said,
"and it sounds as though it might refer to Madeline. It is nothing, but
I dare say my dear girl does not enjoy a bit of dirt even on her outer
garment. And, Madeline, very likely it is not meant for you."

"Oh, yes, it is," cried the girl. "Some one sent me this mar