survived in them. And so
pondering, it was no wonder that Dan brought no joy to John Ware's
library that night. The minister himself seemed unwontedly preoccupied;
Sylvia stared at the fire as though seeking in the flames answers to
unanswerable questions. Mrs. Ware sought vainly to bring cheer to the
company:

Shortly after eight o'clock, Sylvia rose to leave.

"Aunt Sally got home from Kentucky this afternoon, and I must drop in
for a minute, Dan, if you don't mind."

Sylvia hardly spoke on the way to Mrs. Owen's. Since that night on the
lake she had never been the same, or so it seemed to Dan. She had gone
back to her teaching, and when they met she talked of her work and of
impersonal things. Once he had broached the subject of marriage,--soon
after her return to town,--but she had made it quite clear that this was
a forbidden topic. The good comradeship ship and frankness of their
intercourse had passed, and it seemed to his despairing lover's heart
that it could never be regained. She carried her head a little higher;
her smile was not the smile of old. He shrank from telling her that
nothing mattered if she cared for him as he believed she did. She gave
him no chance, for one thing, and he had never in his bitter
self-communing found any words in which to tell her so. More than ever
he needed Sylvia, but Sylvia had locked and barred the doors against
him.

Mrs. Owen received them in her office, and the old lady's cheeriness was
grateful to both of them.

"So you've been having supper with the Wares, have you, while I ate here
all by myself? A nice way to treat a lone old woman,--leaving me to prop
the 'Indiana Farmer' on the coffee pot for company! I had to stay at
Lexington longer than I wanted to, and some of my Kentucky cousins held
me up in Louisville. I notice, Daniel, that there are some doings at the
State House. I must say it was a downright sin for old Ridgefield to go
duck shooting at his time of life and die just when we were getting
politics calmed down in this state. When I saw that old 'Stop, Look,
Listen!' editorial printed like a Thanksgiving proclamation in the
'Courier,' I knew there was trouble. I must speak to Atwill. He's
letting the automobile folks run the paper again."

She demanded to know when Dan would have time to do some work for her;
she had disposed of her Kentucky farm and was going ahead with her
scheme for a vocational school to be established at Waupegan. This was
the f