ay morning, after Paul's usual early
departure, Lydia went to her writing desk to send a note to Madeleine
Hollister. Paul had intimated that she and Madeleine were seeing less of
each other than he had expected from their girlhood acquaintance, and
Lydia, in her anxiety to induce Paul to talk over with her and plan with
her the growth of their home life, was eager to adopt every casual
suggestion he threw out. She began, therefore, a cordial invitation to
Madeleine to spend several days with them. She would try again to be
more intimate with her husband's sister.

She had not inherited her mother's housekeeping eye, and was never
extremely observant of details. Being more than usually preoccupied this
morning, she had no suspicion that someone else had been using the
conveniences for writing on her desk until she turned over the sheet of
paper on which she had begun her note, and saw with surprise that the
other side was already covered with a coarse handwriting, unfamiliar to
her.

As she looked at this in the blankest astonishment, a phrase leaped out
at her comprehension, like a serpent striking. And then another. And
another.

She tried to push back her chair to escape, but she was like a person
paralyzed.

With returning strength to move came an overwhelming wave of nausea. She
crept up to her own room and lay motionless and soundless for hour after
hour, until presently it was noon, and the pleasant tinkling of gongs
announced that lunch was served.

Lydia rose, and made her way down the stairs to the well-ordered table,
set with the daintiest of perfectly prepared food, and stood, holding on
to the back of a chair, while she rang the bell. The little second girl
answered it--one of the flitting, worthless, temporary occupants of that
position.

"Tell Ellen to come here," said her mistress.

At the appearance of the cook, Lydia's white face went a little whiter.
"Did you use my writing desk last evening?" she asked.

Ellen looked up, her large, square-jawed face like a mask through which
her eyes probed her mistress' expression. "Yes, Mrs. Hollister; I did,"
she said in the admirable "servant's manner" she possessed to
perfection. "I ought to ask your pardon for doing it without permission,
but someone was wanting Mr. Hollister on the telephone, and I thought
best to sit within hearing of the bell until you and Mr. Hollister
should return, and as--"

"You left part of your letter to Patsy O'Hern," sai