of her chin, "She
confessed--she always was a goose."

"That didn't prove it," returned Miss Bennett with spirit. "It was the
wisest thing to do. The district attorney--my dear girls, if I were your
age, and that man----"

"Look out!" said Lydia. "He's a great friend of Eleanor's."

"Of Eleanor?" exclaimed Miss Bennett. She was not and never had been a
vain woman, but she was always astonished at men caring for a type of
femininity different from her own. She liked Eleanor, but she thought
her dry and unattractive, and she didn't see what a brilliant, handsome
creature like O'Bannon could see in her. "Is he, really?"

"Yes, he is," said Eleanor coolly. Experience had taught her an
excellent manner in this situation.

"I wish you had waited, Lydia," Miss Bennett went on. "It was very
impressive the way he managed Evans, almost like a hypnotic influence.
She told him everything. She seemed to give herself over into his hands.
It was almost like a miracle. A moment before she had been so hostile--a
miracle taking place right there in Lydia's bedroom."

Lydia, who had been bending over reorganizing the fire, suddenly
straightened up with the poker in her hand and said quickly, "Where?
Taking place where?"

"In your room, dear. Evans was shut up there."

"That man in my room!" said Lydia, and her whole face seemed to blaze
with anger.

"It never occurred to me that you would object, my dear. He said he----"

"It should have occurred to you. I hate the idea--that drunken attorney
in my bedroom. It's not decent!"

"Lydia!" said Miss Bennett.

Eleanor spoke in a voice as cold as steel.

"What do you mean by calling Mr. O'Bannon a drunken attorney?"

"He drinks--Bobby says so."

"I did not say so!"

"Why, Bobby, you did!"

"I said he used to drink when he was in college."

"Oh, well, a reformed drunkard," said Lydia, shrugging her shoulders. "I
can't imagine your doing such a thing, Benny, except that you always do
anything that anyone asks you to do."

Her tone was more insulting than her words, and Miss Bennett did the
most sensible thing she could think of--she got up and left the room.
Lydia stood on the hearthrug, tapping her foot, breathing quickly, her
jaw set.

"I think Bennett's losing her mind," she said.

"I think you are," said Eleanor. "What possible difference does it
make?"

"You say that because you're crazy about this man. Perhaps if I were in
love with him I'd lose all my sense of