gress with Scarborough's sister Arabella, now
a widow and at her own invitation living with him in Indianapolis to
relieve him of the social duties of his office. She was a dozen years
more the Arabella who had roused her father's wrath by her plans for
educating her brother "like a gentleman"; and Olivia and Fred were
irritated and even alarmed by her anything but helpful
peculiarities--though Scarborough seemed cheerful and indifferent
enough about them.

It was a temperamental impossibility for Dumont to believe that
Scarborough could really be sincere in a course which was obviously
unprofitable. Therefore he attached even more importance to Arabella's
cordiality than did Gladys herself. And, when the Legislature adjourned
and Scarborough returned to Saint X for a brief stay, Dumont sent
Gladys post-haste back to the Eyrie--that is, she instantly and eagerly
acted upon his hint.

A few evenings after her return, she and Pauline were on the south
veranda alone in the starlight. She was in low spirits and presently
began to rail against her lot.

"Don't be absurd," said Pauline. "You've no right to complain. You
have everything--and you're--free!"

That word "free" was often on Pauline's lips in those days. And a close
observer might have been struck by the tone in which she uttered it.
Not the careless tone of those who have never had or have never lost
freedom, but the lingering, longing tone of those who have had it, and
have learned to value it through long years without it.

"Yes--everything!" replied Gladys, bitterly. "Everything except the
one thing I want."

Pauline did not help her, but she was at the stage of suppressed
feeling where desire to confide is stronger than pride.

"The one thing I want," she repeated. "Pauline, I used to think I'd
never care much for any man, except to like it for him to like me. Men
have always been a sort of amusement--and the oftener the man changed,
the better the fun. I've known for several years that I simply must
marry, but I've refused to face it. It seemed to me I was fated to
wander the earth, homeless, begging from door to door for leave to come
in and rest a while."

"You know perfectly well, Gladys, that this is your home."

"Of course--in a sense. It's as much my home as another woman's house
could be. But"--with a little sob--"I've seen my mate and I want to
begin my nest."

They were side by side on a wide, wicker sofa. Pauline made an
i