ones, "because I
wanted to reassure you about to-morrow morning. I have considered the
matter a hundred times and have made up my mind that I shall not allow
Bellona Brydges to sit alone at the head of his coffin--"

"But you said--" interrupted her brother.

"I know I said lots of things, but please remember that Sig Brazier was
my husband, quite as much, if not more than Belle's, that he
committed--that he died under our roof, and simply because the divorce
laws of this country are idiotic is no reason why I should abdicate my
rights as a wife--at least his last wife. If Belle attempts her grand
airs or begins to lord it over me I'll make a scene--"

Marsoc groaned. He knew that his sister was capable of making, not one,
but half a dozen scenes with a well defined tragic crescendo at the
close of each. The situation was fast becoming unbearable. With a
gesture of despair he turned to leave the room but Selene detained him.

"You poor fellow, how you do worry! But it is all your fault. You
introduced Sig here--"

"How the deuce did I know that he had a wife up in the hills somewhere?"
cried Marsoc.

"Very true; but you knew of his habits," his sister rejoined gently.
"You knew what a boastful, vain, hard-drinking, immoral man he was, and
at least you might have warned me."

"What good would that have done?" asked her brother, in heated
accents.... He was tall, very blond and his eyes were hopelessly blue.
Brother and sister they were--that a dog might have discovered--but
there was more reserve, chilliness of manner, coldness in the woman. She
could never give herself to any one or anything with the same vigor as
Val. She lacked enthusiasms and had a doubtful temper. Even now, as they
faced each other, she forced him to drop his eyes; then the doorbell
rang.

"If it's Belle, send her up at once. Run, Val, and see." Selene almost
pushed her brother down the short flight that led to the landing on the
second floor. The house was old-fashioned, the drawing-room upstairs.
Val went down grumbling and wondering what sort of a girl was his
sister. He almost ran into a woman dressed in deep mourning.

"Why, Belle--why, Mrs. Brazier, is that you?" he exclaimed, and then
felt like biting his tongue.

Bellona Brydges was as big as Bruennhilde and dark as Carmen. Her tread
was majestic and her black eyes, aquiline nose and firm, large-lipped
mouth, gave an expression of power to her countenance. Her bearing was
one of