She decided that she dared not in this instance keep silent. She was too
entirely in the dark as to what Madeleine had done. "I don't know what
you're talking about, Madeleine," she said, turning around, dust-cloth
in hand, trying to speak casually.

Her sister-in-law stared. "Didn't Paul come home and give it to you? He
looked as though he were going to."

Lydia's heart sank in a vague premonition of evil. "Paul hasn't said
anything to me. Why in the world should he? Is it about 'Stashie? She's
been back several days now, but I thought he hadn't noticed her much."

"Well, he _hasn't_ said anything, that's a fact!" exclaimed Madeleine,
with the frank implication in her voice that she had not before believed
Lydia's statement. "My, no! It's not about 'Stashie. It's about the
French lecturer."

Lydia's astonishment at this unexpected answer quite took away her
breath. "_About the_--" she began.

"Why, look-y here, it was this way," explained Madeleine rapidly. "I
told you I was only joking. I thought it would be fun to tease Paul
about the mash you made on old What's-his-name--about your sitting off
on a sofa with him, and being so wrapped up you didn't even notice when
the whole gang of us came to look at you--and maybe I stretched it some
about how you looked leaning forward and gazing into his eyes--" She
broke off with a laugh, cheerfully unable to continue a serious attitude
toward life. "Oh, never you mind! It does a married man good to make him
jealous once in a while. Keeps 'em from getting too stodgy and
husbandy."

"Jealous!" cried Lydia. "Paul jealous! Of me! Never!" Her certainty on
the point was instant and fixed.

"Well, you'd ha' thought he was, if you'd seen him. I was jollying him
along--we were in the trolley, going to Endbury. I had to take that
early car so's to keep a date with Briggs, and, oh, Lydia! that brown
suit he's making for me is a _dream_, simply a dream! He's put a little
braid, just the least little bit, along--"

"What did Paul say?"

"Paul? Oh, yes--How'd I get switched off onto Briggs? Why, Paul didn't
say _anything_; that was what made me see he wasn't taking it right. He
just sat still and listened and listened till it made me feel foolish. I
thought he'd jolly me back, you know. He's usually a great hand for
that. And then when I looked at him I saw he looked as black as a
thundercloud--that nasty look he has when he's real mad. When we were
children and he'd look that