her
voice.

This was too much for Lydia. She broke out, assuring Evans that she had
been quite right to take the jewels. She, Lydia, now knew what a
thoughtless, inconsiderate employer she had always been. But as for
"that man," Evans must see that he had only tricked her into confessing
in order to save himself trouble. It was a feather in his cap--to get a
confession. He had not thought about saving her soul. Lydia stamped her
foot in the old way but without creating any impression on the bewitched
girl, who insisted on being grateful to the man who had imprisoned her.

"Is that what he is looking for from me?" thought Lydia.

Long, long winter nights in prison are excellent periods for thinking
out a revenge. She saw it would not be easy to revenge herself on
O'Bannon. If it were Albee it would be simple enough--she would make him
publicly ridiculous. To wound that sensitive egotism would be to slay
the inner man. If it were Bobby--poor dear Bobby--she would destroy his
self-confidence and starve him to death through his own belief that he
was worthless. But what could she do to O'Bannon but kill him--or make
him love her? Perhaps threaten to kill him. She tried to think of him on
his knees, pleading for his life. But no, she couldn't give the vision
reality. He wouldn't go down on his knees; he wouldn't plead; he'd stand
up to her in defiance and she would be forced to shoot to prove that she
had meant what she said.

She had been in prison about three months when one morning word came to
the kitchen that she was wanted in the reception room. This meant a
visitor. It was not Miss Bennett's day. It must be a specially
privileged visitor. Her guest was Albee.

Prisoners whose conduct was good enough to keep them in the first grade
were allowed to see visitors once a week. Miss Bennett came regularly,
and Eleanor had come more than once. Lydia was very eager to see these
two, but was not eager to see anyone else. There was always a terrible
moment of shyness with newcomers--an awkward ugly moment. She did not
wish to see anyone who did not love her in a simple human way that swept
away restraint.

She did not want to see Albee, and she was equally sure he did not want
to see her but had been driven by the politician's fear of leaving
behind him in his course onward and upward any smoldering fires of
hatred which a little easy kindness might quench. As a matter of fact,
she did not hate Albee--nor like him. She s