e pantry, littered by
Lydia's silver polish and rags, and went in to face the furious old man
on the hearthrug. Malcolm was quivering so violently that his own fear
seemed to be that he would lose his voice before he had gained his
information. Martie was vaguely conscious that her mother, frightened
and pale, was in the room, and that Len had come to the hall doorway.

"Martie," said her father, breathing hard, "where were you yesterday
afternoon?"

"At Alice Clark's Five Hundred with Lyd----" the girl was beginning
innocently. He cut her short with an impatient shake of the head.

"I don't mean yesterday! Where were you on Monday?"

"Monday? Why, Mama and I walked down to Bonestell's."

"Yes, we did, Pa! Yes, we did!" quavered Mrs. Monroe. "Oh, Pa, WHAT IS
IT?"

"And then what did you do?" he pursued blackly, turning to his wife.

"Why--why, Martie said she was going to go over to Pittsville and back,
just for the ride--just to stay on the trolley, Pa!" explained his wife.

"Martie," thundered her father, "when you went to Pittsville you saw
your sister, didn't you?"

Martie's head was held erect. She was badly frightened, but conscious
through all her fear that there was a certain satisfaction in having
the blow fall at last.

"Yes, sir," she gulped; she wet her lips. "Yes, sir," she said again.

"You admit it?" said Malcolm, his eyes narrowing.

Lydia, pale and terrified, had come in from the kitchen. Now she
suddenly spoke.

"Oh, Pa, don't--don't blame Martie for that! You know what the girls
always were to each other--I don't mean to be impertinent, Pa--do
forgive me!--but Martie and Sally always----"

"One moment, Lydia," said her father, with a repressive gesture, the
veins blue on his forehead. "JUST--ONE--MOMENT." And, panting, he
turned again to Martie. "Yes, and who else did you see in Pittsville?"
he whispered, his voice failing.

Martie, breathing fast, her bright eyes fixed upon him with a sort of
fascination, did not answer.

"I'll tell you who you saw," said Malcolm at white heat. "I'll tell
you! You met this young whippersnapper Jackanapes--what's his
name--this young one-night actor----"

"Do you mean Mr. Wallace Bannister?" Martis asked with a sort of
frightened scorn.

Lydia and her mother gasped audibly in the silence. Malcolm moved his
eyes slowly from his youngest daughter's face to his wife's, to
Lydia's, and back to Martie again. For two dreadful moments he studied
her,