nt, too familiar Irishwoman until after
Lydia should feel more herself. Paul's wrath lost nothing by keeping.

To Lydia, on the contrary, Anastasia's loyalty and devotion were
inexpressibly comforting during the trying days of that summer. Her
servant's loving heart radiated warmth and cheer throughout all her
life. One day, when her mother protested against 'Stashie's habit of
familiar conversation with the family (they had all soon adopted the
Irish diminutive of her name), Lydia said: "I can not be too thankful
for 'Stashie's love and kindness."

Mrs. Emery was outraged. "Good gracious, Lydia! What things you do say."

"Why not? Because she hasn't been to college? Neither have I. She's as
well educated as I am, and a great deal better woman."

"Why, what are you talking about? She can't read!"

"I don't," said Lydia. "That's worse."

Her mother turned the conversation, thinking she would be glad when this
period of high-strung nerves and fancies should be over. She told Dr.
Melton that it seemed to her that "Lydia took it very hard," and she
supposed they couldn't expect her to be herself until after September.

The doctor answered: "Oh, there's a great deal of nonsense about that
kind of talk. A normal woman--and, thank Heaven, Lydia's that to the
last degree--has the whole universe back of her. Lydia's always balanced
on a hair trigger, it's true, but she _is_ balanced! And now all nature
is rallying to her like an army with banners."

"Ah, you never went through it yourself!" Mrs. Emery retreated to the
safe stronghold of matronhood. "You don't know! I had strange fancies,
like Lydia's. Women always do."

Another one of Lydia's fancies of that summer drove her to a strange
disregard of caste rules. It came through a sudden impulse of compassion
one hot midsummer day when Miss Burgess hobbled up the driveway in the
hope of gleaning some Bellevue society notes.

"It's a terrible time of year, Miss Lydia," she said, sinking into a
chair with a long, quavering sigh. "One drops from thirty and sometimes
forty dollars a week to twenty or less; and it's so hard on one's feet,
being on them in hot weather. I assure you mine ache like the toothache.
And expenses are as high as in winter, or worse, when you have an
invalid to look out for. Out here in breezy Bellevue you've no
conception how hot it is on Main Street. And Mother _feels_ the heat!"

All this she said, not complainingly, but in her usual twittering