es and capacities within
herself. Yet she rejoiced in them, she was glad she had hurt Ditmar, she
would hurt him again. Still palpitating, she reached the house in
Fillmore Street, halting a moment with her hand on the door, knowing her
face was flushed, anxious lest her mother or Lise might notice something
unusual in her manner. But, when she had slowly mounted the stairs and
lighted the gas in the bedroom the sight of her sister's clothes cast
over the chairs was proof that Lise had already donned her evening finery
and departed. The room was filled with the stale smell of clothes, which
Janet detested. She flung open the windows. She took off her hat and
swiftly tidied herself, yet the relief she felt at Lise's absence was
modified by a sudden, vehement protest against sordidness. Why should she
not live by herself amidst clean and tidy surroundings? She had begun to
earn enough, and somehow a vista had been opened up--a vista whose end
she could not see, alluring, enticing.... In the dining-room, by the
cleared table, her father was reading the Banner; her mother appeared in
the kitchen door.

"What in the world happened to you, Janet?" she exclaimed.

"Nothing," said Janet. "Mr. Ditmar asked me to stay--that was all. He'd
been away."

"I was worried, I was going to make your father go down to the mill. I've
saved you some supper."

"I don't want much," Janet told her, "I'm not hungry."

"I guess you have to work too hard in that new place," said Hannah, as
she brought in the filled plate from the oven.

"Well, it seems to agree with her, mother," declared Edward, who could
always be counted on to say the wrong thing with the best of intentions.
"I never saw her looking as well--why, I swan, she's getting real
pretty!"

Hannah darted at him a glance, but restrained herself, and Janet reddened
as she tried to eat the beans placed before her. The pork had browned and
hardened at the edges, the gravy had spread, a crust covered the
potatoes. When her father resumed his reading of the Banner and her
mother went back into the kitchen she began to speculate rather
resentfully and yet excitedly why it was that this adventure with a man,
with Ditmar, made her look better, feel better,--more alive. She was too
honest to disguise from herself that it was an adventure, a high one,
fraught with all sorts of possibilities, dangers, and delights. Her
promotion had been merely incidental. Both her mother and father, did