“Well, if you insist on her staying,” cried Lucy, rising from her chair, “I will apply for a divorce and the custody of my child and will name my mother as correspondent in the case!” “Lucy!” articulated John. “You’re crazy!” “No, I’m not crazy,” she went on tensely. “That’s a dozen times you’ve told me I was since she came, but I’m not. You are the one who is crazy, and if you can’t come to your senses in any other way, I’ll bring you to them right now.” “You wouldn’t dare do such a thing, Lucy! Why, it’s ridiculous,” John argued. “How could you prove such a fantastic joke? Where are your witnesses?” John grew almost hysterical. “You’re crazy, Lucy!” “You’ll find out I’m sane.” Lucy’s calm was ominous. “There are witnesses enough to prove what she is--my father, Miss Storms, Jim Sprague, the Hamiltons, the two servants we’ve had, and plenty in Russellville. If you think it’s a joke, John Winter, you just go on and find out who the joke is on. Everybody but you sees through her contemptible tricks. I won’t stand it!” she continued wildly. “I’ll go right now. I’m going to kindergarten to get Dimmie. Oh, to think that I ever thought I loved such a pitiable excuse for a man! Let me get away from the sight of you! I hate you! I despise you! I--I--oh! How can I say what I feel for you! Get out of my way!” and she started swiftly for the hall door. John caught hold of her hand. “Don’t touch me again--ever--ever!” she almost screamed, wrenching herself free. “Lucy, Lucy--please--how can you say such things!” John was cowed. He regarded her pleadingly. Tears were in his eyes. Lucy stood pale and defiant, her eyes shining as if with exaltation. “Then choose this instant between me and my mother!” she commanded hotly. “I will, Lucy--I will. If you think best for her to go, I won’t say anything more. But, Lucy----” “There are no ’buts’ about it,” interrupted Lucy remorselessly. “I don’t mean that I want her to stay,” explained John hastily, “but you hurt me so when you say such awful things. You have told me a thousand times how you looked up to me, and now, after what you have said, I can never feel that you respect me.” He appeared almost ridiculously like a small boy. “You’ve hurt _me_, John, for a long time, and that’s why I said them,” Lucy replied more gently. John sat down in a chair and buried his face in his hands. Suddenly he began to sob, his shoulders heaving and the tears dripping through his fingers. Lucy hesitated and then came slowly up to him and laid her hand on his hair. “Don’t, John,” she entreated in a soft, almost maternal tone. “You’ve hurt--me--so,” he faltered abjectly, his voice choked. “Have I, John? Poor boy! Oh, John, _why_ couldn’t you see without all this?” she whispered wistfully. “Lucy----” John reached up and put his arm around her. “Lucy--you didn’t mean all those things you said about--about--me--about my being--only an excuse for a man, and about--despising me?” He still kept one hand over his eyes.