her 'brat,' in deadly earnest. They stood at last facing each other in the most ghastly of comedies. No explanation could explain. Later, at supper, Lanice watched her father, reading, as was his custom, from the classics as he ate, knew in some subtle and shamefully intimate way that he, too, knew about Mr. Matthews. Even the meek, pale servant seemed omniscient. Mamma alone was untouched by her own sin. She was in rust-colored silk, which matched her hair. She wore topaz in her ears, and little gold French slippers with delicately immoral heels upon her feet.
Pauline was speaking.
'Italy—or France—perhaps France even more than Italy is the place to go for sin. It never would be tolerated in this State.'
'How did you hear?'
'Our Springfield cousins have written. And I know that you have broken with the man whom you love.'
'Cousin Pauline, I don't love him any more. Perhaps I never did. I think I wanted to be married. There seemed to be nothing else to do there and I was getting too old for students, and...'
'There is plenty else to do here in Boston,' said Pauline energetically. 'Why, only three weeks ago a committee of dear, good women opened a philanthropic Boarding House for Industrious Females. It is work one could absolutely lose one's self in if one had the time. I personally am consecrated to other things. Abolition moves me intensely, when I think
