urry had sent a high color to her
cheeks, the curves of which were refined to the most exquisite subtlety
by the loss of flesh so deplored by Dr. Melton. She was used, by this
time, to dressing in a hurry, but her fingers trembled a little, and she
tried three times before she could coil her dark silky hair smoothly.
She was frowning a little with the fixity of her concentration as she
turned to snatch up her long gloves and she did not hear Mrs.
Sandworth's question until it had been repeated,

"I said, Lydia, is it to be bridge this afternoon?"

"I don't know," said Lydia with the full stop of absent indifference.

"Didn't Mrs. Hollister say?"

"Maybe she did. I didn't notice." The girl was tugging at her glove.

"Well, anyhow," said her mother, "since everybody's giving you
card-parties, I should think you'd want to practice up and learn how to
deal better. It's queer," she went on to Mrs. Sandworth, "Lydia's so
deft about so many things, that she should deal cards so badly."

"Oh, goodness! As if there was nothing better to do than that!" cried
Lydia, beginning on the other glove.

"Well, what _have_ you to do that's better?" asked her aunt in some
astonishment. "Lydia, my dear, your collar is pinned the least bit
crooked. Here, just let me--"

Lydia had stopped short, her glove dangling from her wrist. "Why, what a
horrible thing to say!" She brought this out with a tragic emphasis,
immensely disconcerting to her two elders.

"Horrible!" protested Mrs. Sandworth.

"Yes, horrible," insisted the girl. She had turned very pale. "The very
way you say it and don't think anything about it, _makes_ it horrible."

Mrs. Sandworth began to doubt her own senses. "Why, what did I say?" she
appealed to Mrs. Emery in bewildered interrogation, but before the
latter could answer Lydia broke out: "If I really believed that, why,
I'd--I'd--" She hesitated, obviously between tragic consequences, and
then, to the great dismay of her companions, began to cry, still
standing in the middle of the floor, her glove dangling from her slim,
white wrist.

"Don't Lydia! Oh, don't, dear! You'll make yourself look like a fright
for the luncheon." Mrs. Emery ran to her daughter with a solicitude in
which there was considerable irritation. "You're perfectly exhausting,
taking everything that deadly serious way. Don't be so _morbid_! You
know your Aunt Julia didn't mean anything. She never does!"

Lydia pulled away and threw herself