on the bed, still sobbing, and
protesting that she could not go to the luncheon; and in the end Mrs.
Emery was obliged to make the profoundest apologies over the telephone
to a justly indignant hostess.

In the meantime Lydia was undressed and put to bed by Mrs. Sandworth,
who dared not open her mouth. The girl still drew long, sobbing breaths,
but before her aunt left the room she lay quiet, her eyes closed. The
other was struck by the way her pallor brought out the thinness of her
lovely face. She hovered helplessly for a moment over the bed. "Is there
anything I can do for you, dearie?" she asked humbly.

Lydia shook her head. "Just let me be quiet," she murmured.

At this, Mrs. Sandworth retreated to the door, from which she ventured a
last "Lydia darling, you know I'm sorry if I said anything to hurt--"

Lydia raised herself on her elbow and looked at her solemnly. "It wasn't
what you _said_; it was what it _meant_!" she said tragically.

With this cryptic utterance in her ears, Mrs. Sandworth fled downstairs,
to find her sister-in-law turning away from the telephone with a frown.
"Mrs. Hollister was very much provoked about it, and I don't blame her.
It's hard to make her understand we couldn't have given her a _little_
warning. And--that's the most provoking part--I didn't dare say Lydia is
really sick, when, as like as not, she'll be receiving company this
evening."

"You wouldn't want her sick, just so it would be easier to explain,
would you?" asked Mrs. Sandworth with her eternal disconcerting
innocence.

Mrs. Emery relieved her mind by snapping at her sister-in-law with the
violence allowed to an intimate of many years' standing, "Good gracious,
Julia! you're as bad as Lydia! Turning everything people say into
something quite different--"

Mrs. Sandworth interrupted hastily, "Susan, tell me, for mercy's sake,
what did I say? The last thing I remember passing my lips was about her
collar's being a little crooked,--and just now she told me, as though it
was the crack of Doom, that it wasn't what I said, but what it meant,
that was so awful. What in the world does she mean?"

Mrs. Emery sank into a seat with a gesture of utter impatience. "Mean?
Mean nothing! Didn't you ever know an engaged girl before?"

"Well, I'm sure when I was engaged I never--"

"Oh, yes, you did; you _must_ have. They all do. It's nerves."

But a moment later she contradicted her own assurance with a sigh of
unresignation.