.

When Lena Harpster left the dining-room at her mistress's command, she
was in a condition bordering upon hysteria. Her burst of tears
expressed the culmination of a long strain. She had dared to disobey
her lover, driven to desperation by the increasing importunities of the
young man of the house in which she served, and had fled to Miss
Wycliffe's as to a refuge. But her letter of explanation to Emmet had
remained unanswered. Was it not her love for him that had driven her
to disobey? She even refrained from signing her appeal for pardon, as
a concession to his desire for secrecy. Either he was too much
absorbed, or his wrath was implacable, and a fortnight had passed
without a sign. Would he seize this pretext, now that he had been
elected mayor, to cast her off forever, as an impediment to his
progress in the world? This doubt had so preyed upon her nerves that
Miss Wycliffe was not far from the truth when she explained to her
father that the maid was ill. But it was the vilification of her
lover, to which she was forced to listen in silence, that had brought
her emotions to a disastrous climax.

Once in her little room, she threw herself upon the bed and sobbed
without restraint, but her abandonment to grief was short. She arose
hastily and bathed her eyes in cold water, moved by the reflection that
tears only served to mar her beauty, the sole dower she possessed.
There came into her mind also the sudden resolve to go out and see the
parade. She would stand near one of the electric lights, and perhaps
her lover would see her and give some sign, a smile, a wave of the
hand, whose significance would be known to them alone.

Fired by new hope, she discarded her apron and cap and donned her
prettiest skirt. Then, standing in front of her little mirror, she
applied a dash of colour to her pale cheeks with a few deft touches,
spreading it into an appearance of nature with a bit of chamois skin.
She opened the bureau drawer and threw a white silk waist upon the bed.
But now a perplexing question arose. Which riband should she wear
about her throat? She selected two, and laid them before her for
consideration. This one she wore when he first kissed her; but the new
one was prettier. Which would he prefer? Or was it possible that he
would not see her at all in the crowd? While these thoughts ran
through her mind, she smoothed her eyebrows with her pink little thumb,
and paused to reflect that she wou