It was late at night and rain was falling when Lucy arrived in Chicago. Leaving the train she was bewildered by the people, noises, and bustle about her. As she stood looking around the thronged platform misted by the radiance of many lights, a very tall woman, dressed in a grey linen tailored suit with a grey hat, and holding some white carnations in her hand, came up and spoke. “I think you are Lucy.” “Are you Miss Storms?” “I am. Where are your baggage checks, dear?” Lucy handed over her single check and pointed out her smaller baggage which Miss Storms entrusted to a leather coated chauffeur. In a few minutes Lucy found herself in a luxurious limousine gliding through the crowded streets of the city. * * * * * A few evenings later, at a small dinner to which Miss Storms had invited some young people of her acquaintance, Lucy found herself between a red haired girl and a fresh faced young man, both from the Art School. “Lucy, this is Nora Stimpson,” began Miss Storms, and Lucy bowed to the red haired girl. “Your right hand partner is John Winter,” continued Miss Storms. Lucy, following Miss Storms’ direction, looked into the smiling blue eyes of John. He rose and reached out his hand to take hers. Lucy’s romance had begun. VIII After Lucy’s departure the Merwent home went from bad to worse. In times past her presence had often sufficed to prevent the more sordid expressions of the disgust and contempt which Arthur felt for Nannie, and of Nannie’s feeling of fear and distrust toward him. He now avoided being at home alone with his wife until he became almost a stranger in the house. The scandal loving people of Russellville, like the inhabitants of all small towns when similar opportunity is afforded, began to talk, and Arthur’s name was linked with that of Mrs. Low. This, in time, came to Nannie’s ears. Arthur’s law practice, now that he was put to extra expense for Lucy’s maintenance and education, barely supported the family, and Nannie began to feel the pinch of poverty more keenly, especially in the matter of her wardrobe. Mrs. Lockhart was bitter toward her daughter and made no effort toward consolation. In short, Nannie felt herself hardly used by the world. She exerted all her ingenuity, however, in making an appearance that belied her pocket book, and achieved a certain amount of success. “You could turn a good many pennies dressmaking, if you only had horse sense, Anna. Minnie could get you work among her friends. She could put it to them that it was a kind of favor, and if you’d keep your mouth shut nobody would be the worse for it,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart one day, eyeing one of Nannie’s costumes with reluctant approval. But Nannie was very much hurt by such a suggestion. She had no desire to use her arts to teach other and more prosperous women to dress becomingly.