d it, that the dogs barked it, "_Leila
Ballard, Leila Ballard, Leila Ballard, wife of Barry--you're not Leila
Dick, you're not, you're not, you're not._"

"I never knew you to be so quiet," Elizabeth said at last, curiously.
"What's the matter?"

Leila brought herself back with an effort. "I like to listen," she
said, "but I am usually such a chatterbox that people won't believe it."

Somehow she managed to get through that day. Somehow she managed to
greet and meet the people who had been invited to the luncheon which
was given in her honor. But while in body she was with them, in spirit
she was with Barry. Barry was her husband--her husband who loved her
and needed her in his life.

His confession of the night before had brought with it no deadening
sense of hopelessness. To her, any future with Barry was rose-colored.

But it had changed her attitude toward him in this, that she no longer
adored him as a strong young god who could stand alone, and whom she
must worship because of his condescension in casting his eyes upon her.

He needed her! He needed little Leila Dick! And the thought gave to
her marriage a deeper meaning than that of mere youthful raptures.

He had put her on the train that morning reluctantly, and had promised
to call her up the moment she reached town.

So her journey toward Washington on the evening train was an hour of
anticipation. To those who rode with her, she seemed a very pretty and
self-contained young person making a perfectly proper and commonplace
trip on the five o'clock express--in her own mind, she was set apart
from all the rest by the fact of her transcendant romance.

Her father met her at the station and put her into a taxi. All the way
home she sat with her hand in his.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked.

"Heavenly, Dad."

They ate dinner together, and she talked of her day, wishing that there
was nothing to keep from him, wishing that she might whisper it to him
now. She had no fear of his disapproval. Dad loved her.

No call had come from Barry. She finished dinner and wandered
restlessly from room to room.

When nine o'clock struck, she crept into the General's library, and
found him in his big chair reading and smoking.

She sat on a little stool beside him, and laid her head against his
knee. Presently his hand slipped from his book and touched her curls.
And then both sat looking into the fire.

"If your mother had lived, my darling,"