her
efforts, Persis indulged in brief philosophy.

"Anybody's at a terrible disadvantage that's afraid of the truth. Now,
it doesn't worry me a mite to have Annabel call me an old maid, but if
I tell her she's thirty-eight she feels worse than if I'd stuck a knife
into her. Annabel makes me think of those squirming things that live
under stones. All you have to do to bring 'em to terms is to turn the
stone over and let the light in on 'em. It beats all how Annabel will
scramble to get away from the truth."

The man commissioned to bring home Persis Dale's car relished his task
enormously. He told every one that there wasn't a thing the matter
with the machine. She had just stalled her engine and didn't know
enough to get it started again. All Clematis enjoyed the joke, Persis
in particular.

CHAPTER XIX

A DEFERRED INTERMENT

Except for the clerk at the Clematis House the first person to welcome
Justin Ware on his next return to his native town was Annabel Sinclair.
She wore a little white veil, vastly becoming, but masking a tragedy,
since she thereby acknowledged the deterioration of her complexion.
The dramatic encounter took place one block from the hotel, and Annabel
clasping her gloved hands uttered the single word; "You!"

The greeting, abrupt in type, is anything else on the lips of a woman
who has studied the possibilities of that monosyllable. On Annabel's
lips it expressed incredulous wonder, gentle reproach and strong
feeling held in check by womanly modesty. No man can rise superior to
this subtle flattery. Justin greeted her as if she were the woman of
his dreams.

"It's really you--after almost a year." The reproach was uppermost in
her voice now, but she mitigated its severity by allowing him to retain
possession of the hand he had seized.

"It has been a long year--for me," replied Justin, and the rival artist
thrilled with responsive admiration. For his manner said as plainly as
words that throughout those dragging twelve months one thought had
possessed him, the desire to see her again.

"Were you on your way home? May I walk with you?" He asked the favor
with deferential tenderness. She granted it with an effective flutter
of the lids. Each, realizing the other's proficiency in the game, was
spurred to emulation.

And then abruptly the curtain dropped on the play, for at the first
street corner, an automobile barked a warning. Justin, who had
gallantly taken his