lated to the action going on before it. Two
weeks had passed since her return from Philadelphia; and during that
time she had learned that her usefulness at Lynbrook was over. Though
not unwelcome, she might almost call herself unwanted; life swept by,
leaving her tethered to the stake of inaction; a bitter lot for one who
chose to measure existence by deeds instead of days. She had found Bessy
ostensibly busy with a succession of guests; no one in the house needed
her but Cicely, and even Cicely, at times, was caught up into the whirl
of her mother's life, swept off on sleighing parties and motor-trips, or
carried to town for a dancing-class or an opera matinee.

Mrs. Fenton Carbury was not among the visitors who left Lynbrook on the
Monday after Justine's return.

Mr. Carbury, with the other bread-winners of the party, had hastened
back to his treadmill in Wall Street after a Sunday spent in silently
studying the files of the Financial Record; but his wife stayed on,
somewhat aggressively in possession, criticizing and rearranging the
furniture, ringing for the servants, making sudden demands on the
stable, telegraphing, telephoning, ordering fires lighted or windows
opened, and leaving everywhere in her wake a trail of cigarette ashes
and cocktail glasses.

Ned Bowfort had not been included in the house-party; but on the day of
its dispersal he rode over unannounced for luncheon, put up his horse in
the stable, threaded his way familiarly among the dozing dogs in the
hall, greeted Mrs. Ansell and Justine with just the right shade of quiet
deference, produced from his pocket a new puzzle-game for Cicely, and
sat down beside her mother with the quiet urbanity of the family friend
who knows his privileges but is too discreet to abuse them.

After that he came every day, sometimes riding home late to the Hunt
Club, sometimes accompanying Bessy and Mrs. Carbury to town for dinner
and the theatre; but always with his deprecating air of having dropped
in by accident, and modestly hoping that his intrusion was not
unwelcome.

The following Sunday brought another influx of visitors, and Bessy
seemed to fling herself with renewed enthusiasm into the cares of
hospitality. She had avoided Justine since their midnight talk,
contriving to see her in Cicely's presence, or pleading haste when they
found themselves alone. The winter was unusually open, and she spent
long hours in the saddle when her time was not taken up with he