out that I didn't know how to do anything
better than--that I was only good to--"

Her mother laid a firm, gentle hand over the quivering mouth, and said
in a soothing murmur, "Hush, hush! darling. It wasn't anything your poor
foolish Aunt Julia said. It isn't anything, anyhow, but being up too
much and having too much excitement. People get to thinking all kinds of
queer things when they're tired. Mother knows. Mother knows best."

She had prepared a glass of bromide, and now, lifting Lydia as though
she were still the child she felt her to be, she held it to her lips.
"Here, Mother's poor, tired little girl--take this and go to sleep;
that's all you need. Just trust Mother now."

Lydia took the draught obediently, but she sighed deeply, and fixed her
mother with eyes that were unrelentingly serious.

When Mrs. Emery looked in after half an hour, she saw that Lydia was
still awake, but later she fell asleep, and slept heavily until late in
the afternoon.

On her appearance at the dinner-table, still languid and heavy-eyed, she
was met with gentle, amused triumph. "There, you dear. Didn't I tell you
what you needed was sleep. There never was a girl who didn't think a
sick headache meant there was something wrong with her soul or
something."

Judge Emery laughed good-naturedly, as he sliced the roast beef, and
said, with admiration for his wife, "It's a good thing my high-strung
little girl has such a levelheaded mother to look after her. Mother
knows all about nerves and things. She's had 'em--all kinds--and come
out on top. Look at her now."

Lydia took him at his word, and bestowed on her mother a long look. She
said nothing, and after a moment dropped her eyes listlessly again to
her plate. It was this occasion which Mrs. Emery chose to present to the
Judge her plans for the expensive garden-party, so that in the animated
and, at times, slightly embittered discussion that followed, Lydia's
silence was overlooked.

For the next few days she stayed quietly indoors, refusing and canceling
engagements. Mrs. Emery said it was "only decent to do that much after
playing Mrs. Hollister such a trick," and Lydia did not seem averse. She
sewed a little, fitfully, tried to play on the piano and turned away
disheartened at the results of the long neglect--there had been no time
in the season for practice--and wandered about the library, taking out
first one book then another, reading a little and then sitting with
brood