Already, as the car moved off, his mind was on his appointment for the


Sidney, after her involuntary bath in the river, had gone into temporary

eclipse at the White Springs Hotel. In the oven of the kitchen stove sat

her two small white shoes, stuffed with paper so that they might dry in

shape. Back in a detached laundry, a sympathetic maid was ironing various

soft white garments, and singing as she worked.

Sidney sat in a rocking-chair in a hot bedroom. She was carefully swathed

in a sheet from neck to toes, except for her arms, and she was being as

philosophic as possible. After all, it was a good chance to think things


over. She had very little time to think, generally.

She meant to give up Joe Drummond. She didn't want to hurt him. Well,

there was that to think over and a matter of probation dresses to be talked

over later with her Aunt Harriet. Also, there was a great deal of advice

to K. Le Moyne, who was ridiculously extravagant, before trusting the house

to him. She folded her white arms and prepared to think over all these

things. As a matter of fact, she went mentally, like an arrow to its mark,

to the younger Wilson--to his straight figure in its white coat, to his

dark eyes and heavy hair, to the cleft in his chin when he smiled.

"You know, I have always been more than half in love with you myself..."

Some one tapped lightly at the door. She was back again in the stuffy

hotel room, clutching the sheet about her.


"It's Le Moyne. Are you all right?"

"Perfectly. How stupid it must be for you!"

"I'm doing very well. The maid will soon be ready. What shall I order for


"Anything. I'm starving."

Whatever visions K. Le Moyne may have had of a chill or of a feverish cold

were dispelled by that.

"The moon has arrived, as per specifications. Shall we eat on the


"I have never eaten on a terrace in my life. I'd love it."

"I think your shoes have shrunk."

"Flatterer!" She laughed. "Go away and order supper. And I can see fresh

lettuce. Shall we have a salad?"

K. Le Moyne assured her through the door that he would order a salad, and

prepared to descend.

But he stood for a moment in front of the closed door, for the mere sound

of her moving, beyond it. Things had gone very far with the Pages' roomer

that day in the country; not so far as they were to go, but far enough to

let him see on the brink of what misery he stood.

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