stified! I should think I do! Justified in keeping my brother's child
out of the clutches of that--and if my husband and your brother together
can't raise the cash and the pull to get Ariadne away from him, too, I
miss my guess. They will; of course they will, or what's the use of
having money when you go to law!"

Marietta was silent. Madeleine took her lack of responsiveness as due to
the resentment of a poor person to her remarks as to the value of wealth
in a democracy. She frowned, regretting a false step, and went on
conciliatorily: "Of course we're only doing what any decent family is
bound to do--protecting the children. It's what Lydia herself would want
if she were in her right mind."

She fell silent now, restless, fidgeting about, picking up small objects
and setting them down unseeingly, and occasionally going to the window
to look out at the hot, rainy night. She was in mourning for Paul, and
above her black draperies her face was now like marble.

Mrs. Mortimer, also in black, sat in a determinedly passive silence.

Finally, the younger woman broke out: "Oh, I'll go crazy if I just stay
here! I'm going upstairs to see the nurse again."

In an instant she was back, her face whiter than before.

"It's a boy--alive, all right--half an hour ago. Would you think they'd
let us sit here and never tell us--" Her voice changed. "A little boy--"
She sat down.

"How is Lydia?" asked Lydia's sister.

"--a little boy," said Madeleine. She addressed the other woman
peremptorily. "I want him! You can have Ariadne!" She flushed as she
spoke, and added defiantly: "I know I always said I didn't want
children!"

"How is Lydia?" Marietta broke in with an angry impatience.

"Very low, the nurse said; Dr. Melton wouldn't give any hope."

Marietta's face twitched. Her large white hands clasped each other hard.

"I'm going into the doctor's office to telephone my husband," went on
Madeleine; "there's not a minute to lose."

After she was alone, Mrs. Mortimer's thin, dark face settled into tragic
repose. She leaned back her head and closed her eyes, from which a slow
tear ran down over her sallow cheeks. There was no sound but the patter
of summer rain on the porch roof outside.

Firm, light steps came hastily to the outer door, the door clicked open
and shut, the steps came down the hall. Mrs. Mortimer sat up and opened
her eyes. She saw a tall man in rough clothes, hatless, with raindrops
glistening on his brigh