issed this cool and
level-headed child of hers.

But when she had finished, Jemima was by no means cool and level-headed.
All her pretty married complacency had gone. She was more excited than
her mother had ever seen her. She jumped up and began to walk around the
room, muttering rather surprising things.

"Why did you let him go? The horrid beast! Oh, poor little Jacky, poor
little Jacky! Why did you let him off, Mother? Why didn't you--shoot
him?"

"Daughter!"

"Well, I don't care," muttered the girl, defiantly. "I can understand
killing a man like that, I can!"

A queer little smile twitched at Kate's lips. "Can you, my dear?"

Jemima stopped short, and her eyes met her mother's, widening. She
realized of what Kate was thinking. "Yes, I can," she repeated,
breathlessly. "A man like that ... Mother! _Was my father--a--man like
that?_"

But Kate spoke quickly, as if she had not heard. "Then you think I did
right in letting Jacqueline believe Channing had failed her?"

The girl thought it over. "No," she said at last, with her usual
ruthlessness. "I don't. No good ever comes of deception, Mother. Look
what it has done already! Poor Mag ran away because she was afraid of
not keeping your secret."

Kate winced. "But I have Jacqueline!"

"And of course," conceded the other thoughtfully, "Mag would have gone
to the bad anyway, soon or late.--Oh, yes, she would, Mother! No use
blinking facts. As she used to say, she was 'spiled anyway.' On the
whole," Jemima decided, "I think you have done the best thing possible.
But I wish _I_ had been here!--What are you going to do with Jacky now?
Let her study singing?"

Kate realized the silence that had latterly fallen on Storm. The girl
had not sung a note in weeks. Both piano and graphophone had been idle.
She spoke of this.

"That's bad! Music has always meant so much to Jacky. She'll have to
have an outlet of some sort. Better let her come home with me, Mother.
I'll get her interested in something."

Kate shook her head. "Try, if you like, but she won't go. She's more
'mommerish' than ever just now, poor baby. She needs mothering, I
think--and marrying!"

Jemima looked up quickly. "You mean Philip? Surely, Mother, you've given
up the Philip idea, after _this_!"

"Why should I?"

"Why, Mother! Would it be fair to him? Don't you realize that poor
little Jacky has been almost--wicked?"

"No, no, dear, never wicked! Only ignorant, and desperately in love. It