ed with her
sister's treatment of their mother.

Leonetta glanced down at her paper in the thoughtful manner of a buck
about to butt. For the first time she had perceived clearly that much
of which she had not the smallest inkling must have happened during her
long absences from home, and that these two women,--her mother and
sister,--were united by strangely powerful bonds. Being an intelligent
creature, therefore, she decided to postpone the framing of her strategy
until she had learned more about the strength that seemed to be
constantly combining against her.

She raised her eyes at last, and looked straight into her sister's face.

"I can't think what makes you so dreadfully stuffy," she declared,
"surely there's no harm in what I said."

Mrs. Delarayne, who longed only for one thing--that the remark
complained about, with its brutal reference to her old age, should not
be repeated, and least of all discussed,--here interposed a word or two.

"No, my darling Leo, of course not. You come fresh from school; you are
full of new ideas and schemes; and we,--well, we've remained at home."

This observation was perhaps a little feeble, and it also constituted a
desertion of Cleopatra, but in any case it seemed to give Leonetta the
necessary hint, for she went quite close to her mother and began
smoothing her hair. "You must tell me all about the Inner Light some
time," she said, "it sounds ripping."

She glanced triumphantly at her sister as she spoke. Half of her action
had been completely unconscious. Obviously she felt the need of making
one of these women her friend, and instinctively she inclined to the one
who appeared to be the more powerful.

"Peachy darling," she continued, "don't you think this white satin frock
that the Claude hag is going to make me might be my coming-out frock? It
will be new for the early autumn."

Cleopatra gasped, and Mrs. Delarayne gave her a glance full of meaning.

"You see," Leonetta pursued, "it will be the best of the lot, won't it?"

Mrs. Delarayne drew Leonetta towards her with an affectionate gesture,
and smiled in that ingratiating manner so necessary to timidity in
distress.

"But I didn't know you were to come out this autumn," she protested
lamely, not daring to look at Cleopatra, whose attitude she only too
shrewdly divined.

"It's ridiculous," Cleopatra exclaimed; "I didn't come out until I was
eighteen. You know, Edith, you and father wouldn't hear of making