embarrassed, but for a moment the childlike clarity of her look was clouded by an expression of consciousness.

Mrs. Emery made a rush upon her, drawing her away toward the door with a displeased look at Marietta. “Never mind about Paul’s prospects,” she said. “With Lydia just this minute home, to begin gossiping about the neighbors! Come up to your room, darling, and see the little outdoor sitting-room we’ve had fixed over the porch.”

Mrs. Mortimer was not given to bearing chagrin, even a passing one, with undue self-restraint. She threw into the intonation of her next sentence her resentment at the rebuke from her mother. “I still live, you know, even if Lydia has come home!” As Mrs. Emery turned with a look of apology, she added, “Oh, I only wanted to make you turn around so that I could tell you that I am going to bring my two men-folks over here to-night, to the gathering of the clans, and that I must go home until then. Dr. Melton and Aunt Julia are coming, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yes!” cried Lydia. “It doesn’t seem to me I can wait to see Godfather. I sort of half hoped he might be here now.”

“Well, Lydia!” her mother reproached her jealously.

“Oh, you might as well give in, Mother, Lydia likes the little old doctor better than any of the rest of us.”

“He talks to me,” said Lydia defensively.

“We never say a word,” commented Mrs. Mortimer.

Lydia broke away from her mother’s close clasp and ran back to her sister. She was always running, as though to keep up with the rapidity of her swift impulses. She held her subtly-curved cheek up to the other’s strongly-marked face. “You just kiss me, Etta dear,” she pleaded softly, “and stop teasing.”

Mrs. Mortimer looked long into the clear dark eyes with an unmoved countenance. Then her face melted suddenly till she looked like her mother. She put her arms about the girl with a fervent gesture of tenderness. “Dear little Lydia,” she murmured, with a quaver in her voice.