hil!" murmured Jemima under her breath.

Her mother wheeled round upon her. "Why do you say 'poor Phil'?" she
demanded indignantly. "Do you suppose I would offer Jacques' son
anything but the best I have to give? Don't you know that I am thinking
of his happiness quite as much, perhaps more than of Jacqueline's? His
is a bigger nature than yours, my daughter. He would never make the
mistake of thinking the child capable of 'wickedness,' no matter what
folly she might commit."

"And does he know of her latest 'folly,' Mother?"

"I do not know how much he may suspect, but that is not my affair.
Jacqueline will tell him about it herself, doubtless ... after they are
married," replied Kate, serenely.

Others entering the room just then put a stop to the conversation; but
for the rest of the evening young Mrs. Thorpe was thoughtful. She knew
the Madam's capacity for carrying out intentions. Watching Philip
closely, his brotherly tenderness to Jacqueline contrasted with the
silent, almost worshipful adoration her mother took so astonishingly for
granted, she realized that it would be difficult for his lady to put any
test to his devotion too difficult for him to perform. It seemed
probable that Kate would succeed in covering one blunder with another
blunder.

A great sympathy for Philip came over her--sympathy being a recently
developed trait of Jemima's. She saw him suddenly as a piteous figure,
even more piteous than her listless young sister, who would, after all,
revive like a thirsty flower with the first draft of love that came to
her reaching roots. Her mother had been right there.--But what was to
atone to Philip for his lonely childhood, his lonely youth, always with
the shadow resting upon it; his hopeless infatuation for a woman who
would not see, his whole life devoted to that cold and thankless lot of
service to others?

"We've taken too much from Philip as it is," she thought. "I must put a
stop to this, somehow!"

She decided to drop a hint of warning to Jacqueline herself. Treachery
it might be, but, as has been seen, Jemima was quite capable of
treachery when it marched with expediency.

Drop a hint she accordingly did, one of her own especial brand of hints,
as delicate and as subtle as a dynamite bomb.

It occurred at bedtime, when Jemima--the Thorpes were spending the
night--slipped across into the room that had been the nursery to chat
with her sister in the old-time intimacy of hair-brushing.