In the dining room of the Winter home Lucy sat at the breakfast table with Jim who had remained at Rosedene overnight. John had gone to catch the early suburban train in order to bring Lucy’s mother from the station. Dimmie was out under an old elm tree in the yard, swinging. Lucy had been up since half past five, had served John’s breakfast at six, and disposed of Dimmie’s bath and appetite, preparing a second meal for herself and Jim. She now contemplated the disheveled table. “I must get cleaned up before they come!” She rose and settled her apron more precisely, then began to clear away the dishes and brush the crumbs from the cloth. Jim took out his pipe and filled it. “Maybe your mother won’t have had breakfast,” he said. Lucy shook her head. “John is going to take her some place in town. It would make it too late for her to wait until she got out here.” Jim rose to help with the remaining plates. “You go on with something else,” he insisted. “I can finish these things in a jiffy.” “No, you can’t!” Lucy motioned him away. “You must go on with the work you brought in the portfolio. John said he found you hard at it when he went after you yesterday evening.” “All right, Lucy. Just as you say. I’m making some calculations on our new contract.” Jim moved toward the next room. “I won’t disturb you in there but you’d better shut Dimmie out,” Lucy called after him. “I’m nearly through with the estimates.” Jim turned in the doorway. Lucy had stopped her work and was gazing out the window with an abstraction unusual to her. “You don’t see them?” Lucy shook her head, her profile half averted. “Lucy--you’re not crying?” Jim’s voice showed astonishment and more feeling than he commonly expressed. He had never before seen Lucy in tears. She faced him, smiling uncertainly. “Jim, I try so hard to be just to everybody!” she explained irrelevantly. “Nothing infuriates people like receiving justice, Lucy.” She glanced at him appreciatively. “You can put things into words, Jim. When I was a little girl I used to think and think, trying to explain things to myself.” Her voice trailed off. “I know Mamma’ll want me to blame Papa, Jim, and I can’t.” An automobile horn was heard outside and the sound of a machine stopping. Lucy started. “Hello!” Jim turned to face Dimmie who ran into the room crying, “They’re here! They’re here!” and scurried out again. Lucy seemed bewildered. “Why the train never gets to Rosedene at this hour!” Jim smiled encouragingly. “Don’t borrow trouble, Lucy,” he said. “John’s brought your mother out in a machine. They can’t have made a very bad impression on each other.” Lucy started for the hall but hesitated. There was the sound of a door opening and of several footsteps.