he Indianapolis project had been agreed
upon, provided Bays could raise the money. If that could be done, the
new firm would begin operations January first. That afternoon Rita went
to the step-off and looked the Indianapolis situation in the face. It
stared back at her without blinking, and she could evolve no plans to
evade it. Dic would return in November--centuries off--and she felt sure
he would bring help. Until then, Indianapolis, with the figures of her
mother and Williams in the background, loomed ominously before her
vision.

Williams's second visit was made ostensibly to Rita's father. The third,
two weeks later, was made openly to her father's daughter. It was
preceded by an ominous letter to Rita requesting the privilege of making
the visit to her. Rita wished to answer at once by telling him that she
could not receive him, but Rita's mother thought differently.

"Say to him," commanded Mrs. Bays, "that you will be pleased to see him.
He is a fine young man with a true religious nature. I find that he has
been brought up by a God-fearing mother. I would not have you receive
him because he is rich, but that fact is nothing against him. I can't
for the life of me understand what he sees in you, but if he--" she
stopped speaking, and her abrupt silence was more emphatic than any
words could have been. Rita saw at once the drift of her mother's
intentions and trembled.

"But I would not be pleased to see him, mother," the girl responded
pleadingly; "and if I write to him that I would, I should be telling a
lie."

"I tell a lie," cried the stern old woman in apparent anguish. "Oh, my
heart!" She sank to a chair, and gasping between her words, continued,
"Oh, that I should have lived to be told by my own child that I'm a
liar!" Her head fell backward, and one would have supposed dissolution
near. Mr. Bays ran to fetch a cup of water, and Rita stood in deep
trouble by her mother's side fanning her. "A liar! a liar!" moaned the
dying woman.

"I did not say that, mother. I said--"

"A liar! yes, I'm a liar. My own daughter that I have loved and
cherished in my own bosom, and have toiled and suffered for all my life,
says I'm a liar."

"Mother, I protest, dear mother, hear me," began Rita, but mother
interrupted her by closing her eyes and supposedly her ears as if she
were on the point of passing over. The only signs of life in the old
woman were her gasps for breath. The girl, who had no deceit in her
hea