“Dear Daughter,” it began. “We leave in the morning as I expected. Ellen and I had hoped to see you and the boy once more before our departure, but Miss Storms learned through your husband that you were not coming again, and also that you were not well. I can understand that your nerves have been nearly ruined and imagine your condition. “It seems strange that peace loving people like you and me and Ellen should be forced to quarrel with each other. I do not blame you (you will say I have no right to do so), nor is it my place to comment on the attitude your husband has taken. Sufficient to say that he has accepted your mother’s assessment of values in family matters. “I know that you wish to remain neutral, but I have learned to my own sorrow the impossibility of a neutral peace where your mother is concerned. It seems to me, as things are, that the kindest thing Ellen and I can do in your interest is to do nothing and consider ourselves entirely out of the matter. “Remember, Lucy, no matter what you may think of me, that I blame you in nothing, and that I try to regard your husband’s hostility to us with as much detachment as is in accord with my respect and affection for Ellen and the right I feel to demand that respect from others. “Kiss the little boy for us both. We hope from our hearts that your indisposition is not serious. You know the cure. Ellen, in particular, regrets the impossible circumstances, etc. But why say more of that? “Your friend and father, “Arthur Merwent.” Lucy sat for some time with the letter in her hand. When she finally rose it was to begin to dress for the street. A little later she descended the stairs, wearing her hat and carrying her gloves and purse. Nannie and John were breakfasting when she entered the dining room and took her place at the table. “You’re not going out this morning, are you, Lucy?” Nannie inquired, staring at her daughter’s apparel. “You know the doctor said you were to keep quiet.” “Yes, I’m going out,” Lucy told her. “Now, Lucy, you ought not to disobey the doctor’s orders. You will be much better quiet here at home.” Lucy did not reply. “Where are you going?” Mrs. Merwent persisted. “I’m going down town.” “Are you going shopping?” “No.” “Well, _I_ don’t think you ought to go. Do you, John?” “What I think is of little consequence in this house,” answered John. He scanned the newspaper at his elbow as he spoke. “Didn’t you say last night that you were going to Benton Harbor again today, John?” Nannie asked somewhat irrelevantly, glancing sharply at Lucy’s face. “Yes.” John picked up his paper. “And you won’t be back till night?” she pursued with her eyes still on Lucy’s profile. “No.” John went on reading. “Well, I’m certain Lucy ought not to go.” Nannie returned to the first topic with seeming carelessness.