She dropped upon a chair, feeling faint and ill. Like many women, she had firm trust in her intuitions. If they had seemed baseless before, they rested on a firm enough foundation now. She was in this man's power; and the man was an adventurer and a Clough. Would he tell her father? Or worse--her mother! She pictured her father's grief; his rage against Thorpe. It would be more than she could endure. When Thorpe came, it would not matter so much. And if her father were not told, it was doubtful if he would ever suspect: he was very busy, and hated the trip from San Francisco to Lake County. After Thorpe's arrival, it was hardly likely that he would visit her. A few moments' reflection convinced her that Clough would keep her secret. His was the mind of subtle methods. He would make use of his power over her in ways beyond her imagining. Terror possessed her, and she called loudly upon Thorpe. With the sound of his name, her confidence returned. He would be with her in something under three months. Meanwhile, she could defy Clough. Later, he would meet more than his match. The next day she wrote to Molly Shropshire, telling her the truth and giving her many commissions. Miss Shropshire's reply was characteristic: "I have bought everything, and start for the cottage on Tuesday. It is fortunate that I have two married sisters; I can be of much assistance to you. I have helped on several wardrobes of this sort, and acquired much lore of which you appear to be painfully ignorant. I am coming with my large trunk; for I shall not leave you again." The momentous subject was not broached for some hours after her arrival. Then--they were seated before the fire in the sitting-room, and the first rain of winter was pelting the roof--Miss Shropshire opened her mouth and spoke with vicious emphasis. "I hate men. There is not one I'd lift my finger to do a service for. My sisters are supposed to have good husbands. One--Fred Lester--is a grown-up baby, full of whims and petty vanities and blatant selfishness, who has to be 'managed.' Tom Manning is as surly as a bear with a sore head when his dinner disappoints him; and when things go wrong in the office there is no living in the house with him. My brother's life is notorious, and his wife, what with patience and tears, looks like a pan of skim-milk. Catch me ever marrying! Not if Adonis came down and staked a claim about a mountain of gold quartz. As for Dudley Thorpe!" her voice rose to the pitch of fury. "What is a man's love good for, if it can't think of the woman first? Aren't they our natural protectors? Aren't they supposed to think for us,--take all the responsibilities of life off our shoulders? This sort of thing is in keeping with the character, isn't it? Why don't you hate him? You ought to. _I'd_ murder him--" Nina plunged across the rug, and pressed both hands against Miss Shropshire's mouth, her eyes blazing with passion.