“You can discount most of what you hear from her enemies,” said John, coloring. “Men are stronger on justice than women.” Miss Storm’s smile was a little bitter. “They can afford it better. But listen to my plan. Mrs. Merwent is fond of society and--well, admires rich people. Now I have some friends to whom I can get Miss Powell to introduce her, and they will invite her to their country place, and in general take her out of the way for a part of the summer at least. You and Lucy can----” “I don’t see any need at all for any such thing, Miss Storms. You entirely misjudge Mrs. Merwent. She is as anxious about Lucy as----” Miss Storms set down her cup. “Have you seen the Art Loan Exhibition?” she inquired in a changed manner. “We have a fine showing of the younger Spanish schools, loaned from Madrid.” “No,” said John, surprised. “Well, you must take Lucy and Mrs. Merwent to see it. It’s really worth while.” “I will,” promised John perfunctorily, rising with a dazed air. “Must you go? Well, good-bye. It was good of you to come. Give my love to Lucy, and remember me to Jim Sprague. I haven’t seen him for a long time.” They touched hands stiffly. When John had gone, Miss Storms went into her bedroom and shook her fist at her reflection in the pier glass. * * * * * John walked toward the office with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground, a puzzled, abstracted expression on his face. He did not see Jim who came out of the office building as he reached it. Jim passed on down the street in the direction of Layard’s. It had begun to drizzle. John went into the draughting room and closed some windows which had been left open. Then he sat down in front of his desk with his hat on. Lucy’s picture in a leather easel frame confronted him. He took it up and studied the clear eyes and beautiful mouth. Resting his chin on his hand he remained so, frowning at the wall. XXIII John left the office earlier than usual and reached home before anyone expected him. Nannie had just completed her toilette, however, and she fluttered into the hall to meet him. “Are you tired, John, dear?” she asked as he hung up his hat. “No, I’m not tired,” he answered without glancing at her. “Where’s Lucy?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied in a hurt tone of voice. “I suppose she is in her own room.” John ascended the stairs without further conversation. Left alone, Nannie examined her carefully groomed image in the hall mirror, and saw there a rather nonplussed face. John entered the bedroom and found Lucy seated in a rocking chair crooning to Dimmie who was in her lap. The light in the room was dim, and her profile, as she bent over the child, was silhouetted against the glowing square of a western window. “How do you feel, Lucy?” John asked, going over to her and hesitating awkwardly by her chair. “I’m feeling all right. Why?” she returned, looking up quickly.