e to Chicago." "If she had
been at the Willings' where we supposed she was she would have, got the
message. And her mother had written--twice!"

"I still think it would be a serious mistake in all the circumstances
for you to go up there in a spirit of resentment to bring Marian home.
It's not exactly my business, Mr. Bassett. But I'm thinking of Marian;
and you could hardly keep from Mrs. Bassett the fact that you went for
Marian. It would be sure to distress her."

"Marian needs curbing; she's got to understand that she can't go
gallivanting over the country with strangers, getting her name in the
newspapers. I'm not going to have it; I'm going to stop her nonsense!"

His voice had risen with his anger. Sylvia saw that nothing was to be
gained by argument.

"The main thing is to bring Marian home, isn't it, Mr. Bassett?"

"Most certainly. And when I get her here she shall stay; you may be sure
of that!"

"I understand of course that you want her back, but I hope you will
abandon the idea of going for her yourself. Please give that up! I
promise that she shall come home. I can easily take the night train and
come back with her. What you do afterward is not my affair, but somehow
I think this is. Please agree to my way of doing it! I can manage it
very easily. Mrs. Owen's man can take me across to the train in the
launch. I shan't even have to explain about it to her, if you'd rather I
didn't. It will be enough if I tell her I'm going on business. You will
agree, won't you--please?"

It was not in his heart to consent, and yet he consented, wondering that
he yielded. The rescue of Marian from the Willings was taken out of his
hands without friction, and there remained only himself against whom to
vent his anger. He was curiously agitated by the encounter. The ironic
phrases he had already coined for Marian's discomfiture clinked into the
melting-pot. Sylvia was turning away and he must say something, though
he could not express a gratitude he did not feel. His practical sense
grasped one idea feebly. He felt its imbecility the moment he had
spoken.

"You'll allow me, of course, to pay your expenses. That must be
understood."

Sylvia answered over her shoulder.

"Oh, yes; of course, Mr. Bassett. Certainly."

He meant to accompany her to Mrs. Owen's door, but before he could move
she was gone, running along the path, a white, ghost-like figure faintly
discernible through the trees. He walked on tiptoe to the