to live with an aunt. Five years later she married an American
living in Paris. He was much older than she, and it was rumored that she
was not happy. Ten years after her marriage she returned to Washington a
widow.

It was at once apparent that she had changed. She wore charming but
sophisticated clothes, made on youthful lines so that she seemed nearer
twenty-five than thirty-five. Her hair was still soft and shining. She
had been a pretty girl, she was a beautiful woman. But the greatest
change was in her attitude toward life. In Paris her golden-rule
philosophy had been turned topsy-turvy.

Hence when she met Mills and found the old flames lighted in his eyes,
she stirred the ashes of her dead romance and discovered a spark. It was
pleasant after that to talk with him in dim corners at people's houses.
Now and then she invited him and Mary to her own big house with plenty
of other guests, so that she was not missed if she walked with Mills in
the garden. She meant no harm and she was really fond of Mary.

The years had not been so kind to Mills as to Dulcie. They had stolen
some of his slenderness, and his hair was thin at the back. But he wrote
better books, and it was Mary who had helped him write them. She had
made of his house a home. She was still the same sturdy soul. Her bright
color had faded and her hair was gray. Life with Mills had not been an
easy road to travel. She had traveled it with loss of youth, perhaps,
but with no loss of self-respect. She knew that her husband was in some
measure what he was because of her. She had kept the children away from
his study door; she had seen that he was nourished and sustained. She
had prodded him at times to increased activities. He had resented the
prodding, but it had resulted in a continuity of effort which had added
to his income.

Dulcie came into Mary's life as something very fresh and stimulating.
She spoke of it to Mills.

"It is almost as if I had been abroad to hear her talk. She has had such
interesting experiences."

It was not Dulcie's experiences which interested Mills; it was the
loveliness of her profile, the glint of her hair, the youth in her, the
renewed urge of youth in himself.

Priscilla Dodd saw what had happened. Priscilla was the aunt with whom
Dulcie had lived in Paris; and she was a wise, if worldly, old woman.
She saw rocks ahead for Dulcie.

"He's in love with you, my dear."

Dulcie, in a rose satin house coat which shone r