o
her father, and together they would send her away somewhere. Away from
Louis Akers. If he was watching her mail too he would know that Louis
was in love with her. They would rake up all the things that belonged
in the past he was done with, and recite them to her. As though they
mattered now!

She went to the window and looked out. Yes, she had seen the
detective before. He must have been hanging around for days, his face
unconsciously impressing itself upon her. When she turned:

"Louis is coming to dinner, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"If you don't mind, Aunt Nellie, I think I'll dine out with him
somewhere. I want to talk to him alone."

"But the detective--"

"If my grandfather uses low and detestable means to spy on me, Aunt
Nellie, he deserves what he gets, doesn't he?"

When Louis Akers came at half-past six, he found that she had been
crying, but she greeted him calmly enough, with her head held high.
Elinor, watching her, thought she was very like old Anthony himself just
then.

CHAPTER XVIII

Willy Cameron came home from a night class in metallurgy the evening
after the day Lily had made her declaration of independence, and let
himself in with his night key. There was a light in the little parlor,
and Mrs. Boyd's fragile silhouette against the window shade.

He was not surprised at that. She had developed a maternal affection for
him stronger than any she showed for either Edith or Dan. She revealed
it in rather touching ways, too, keeping accounts when he accused her of
gross extravagance, for she spent Dan's swollen wages wastefully; making
him coffee late at night, and forcing him to drink it, although it kept
him awake for hours; and never going to bed until he was safely closeted
in his room at the top of the stairs.

He came in as early as possible, therefore, for he had had Doctor
Smalley in to see her, and the result had been unsatisfactory.

"Heart's bad," said the doctor, when they had retired to Willy's room.
"Leaks like a sieve. And there may be an aneurism. Looks like it,
anyhow."

"What is there to do?" Willy asked, feeling helpless and extremely
shocked. "We might send her somewhere."

"Nothing to do. Don't send her away; she'd die of loneliness. Keep her
quiet and keep her happy. Don't let her worry. She only has a short
time, I should say, and you can't lengthen it. It could be shortened, of
course, if she had a shock, or anything like that."

"Shall I tell the family?"