it tried to be gay--so mused Miss Katherine Wayneworth Jones.

And of various other things, mused she. Her brother, Captain Wayneworth
Jones, was divorced from his wife and wedded to something he was hoping
would in turn be wedded to a rifle; all the scientific cells of the
family having been used for Wayne's brain, it was hard for Katie to get
the nature of the attachment, but she trusted the ordnance department
would in time solemnly legalize the affair--Wayne giving in
marriage--destruction profiting happily by the union. Meanwhile Wayne was
so consecrated to the work of making warfare more deadly that he scarcely
knew his sister had arrived. But on the morrow, or at least the day
after, would come young Wayneworth, called Worth, save when his Aunt Kate
called him Wayne the Worthy. Wayne the Worthy was also engaged in
perfecting a death-dealing instrument, the same being the interrogation
point. Doubtless he would open fire on Aunt Kate with--Why didn't his
mother and father live in the same place any more, and--Why did he have
to live half the time with mama if he'd rather stay all the time with
father? Poor Worth, he had only spent six years in a world of law and
order, and had yet to learn about courts and incompatibilities and
annoying things like that. It did not seem fair that the hardest part of
the whole thing should fall to poor little Wayne the Worthy. He couldn't
help it, certainly.

But how Worthie would love those collie pups! They would evolve all sorts
of games to play with them. Picturing herself romping with the boy and
dogs, prowling about on the river in Wayne's new launch, lounging under
those great oak trees reading good lazying books, doing everything
because she wanted to and nothing because she had to, flirting just
enough with Captain Prescott to keep a sense of the reality of life, she
lay there gloating over the happy prospect.

And then in that most irresponsible and unsuspecting of moments
something whizzed into her consciousness like a bullet--something
shot by her vision pierced the lazy, hazy, carelessly woven web of
imagery--bullet-swift, bullet-true, bullet-terrible--striking the center
clean and strong. The suddenness and completeness with which she sat up
almost sent her from her place. For from the very instant that her eye
rested upon the figure of the girl in pink organdie dress and big hat she
knew something was wrong.

And when, within a few feet of the river the girl stop