Sue turned a startled face over a shoulder. And at once she was only a small girl caught in naughtiness. "Oh,--er--ah--good-morning," she stammered. "I--er--I've got everything but the kitchen stove." She made to a bench and let all her purchases fall. "Mrs. Balcome,--how--how is mother?" "You care a lot about your poor mother!" retorted Mrs. Balcome. "You'll send her gray hairs in sorrow to the grave!" Balcome winked at Sue. "Hebrews, ten, thirty-six," he reminded roguishly. "'For ye have need of patience.'" "Well, dear lady, just what have I done?" Sue sank among the packages. "I say you're responsible for this--this unfortunate turn of affairs." "If you'd only let things alone yesterday," broke in Wallace; "if you'd stayed at home, and minded your own affairs." "So you could have deceived Hattie." "No! You've no right to call it deception. That's one of your new-woman ideas. This is something that happened long ago, before I ever met Hattie--and it's sacred----" Hattie burst out laughing. "Sacred!" she cried. "Of course--an affair with the wife of your host!" "Hattie!" warned Mrs. Balcome. But Hattie ignored her mother. "What a disgusting argument!" she went on. "What a cowardly excuse!" Matters were taking a most undesirable turn. To change their course, Mrs. Balcome swung round upon Sue. "Why did you send Dora for that child?" "What has the poor child to do with it?" "Ah! You see, Wallace? It was all done purposely. So that Hattie would decide against you. What does Susan Milo care that you'll be mortified? That Hattie's life will be spoiled?" (Hattie smiled.) "That I'll have to explain and lie?" "Ha! Ha!--Lie!" chuckled Balcome. "Don't you see that she's not thinking of you, Hattie? That you'll have to pack up and go home?--Oh, it's dreadful! Dreadful!" "Yes," answered Hattie. "It would be dreadful--to have to go home." Mrs. Balcome did not seem to hear. She was waving a hand at the bundles. "And what, may I ask, are all these?" "These?" "You heard me." "Well, this--for, oh, she must have the best welcome that we can give her, the darling!--this----" "All cooked up for Mr. Farvel's benefit, I suppose," interjected Mrs. Balcome. "Of course. Who cares anything about the child!" Sue laughed. "Oh, your mother has told me of your aspirations,"--this with scornful significance.