Her original intention, when she had seen ample time ahead, had been to enlist old Mrs. Lounsbury on her side, to make everything very correct, very regular, in contrast to Frankie’s wildness. And then, later, to hold out prospects, all sorts of alluring prospects, of assistance from the old lady, of an unassailable “position” in their married life, of respectability and money, which she had seen that he coveted. For, like all women who can “manage” men, Minnie had an unerring flair for the weak point; that being the pivot upon which they may most easily be swung. She knew what she was doing when she asked Lionel to tea. She had first carefully prepared her aunt with stories, wholly fictitious, of his social standing and eligibility, and his affection for herself. She knew that he would appreciate the atmosphere of money and solidity there, and that it would reflect credit upon herself. The next step, already arranged with her approving aunt, was an invitation to dinner. But that wouldn’t serve now, if he were going to be so impetuous. She would have to work quickly. If he saw Frankie again, or had many more letters from her, all would be lost. A desperate step was necessary, and she took it. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT I Minnie had asked Lionel to stop at home the next day until he heard from her, and of course, he did so, simply darting out, once for breakfast, once for lunch. He was very nervous for fear he’d miss the afternoon train to Brownsville Landing. Frankie would be expecting him, perhaps she’d meet the trains. He couldn’t bear the idea of her waiting disappointed, at the station. After that train at three, there wasn’t another until seven; he was sure she couldn’t manage that. And still he was happy and full of hope, of Frankie’s fine spirit of adventurousness; he gloried in the rashness of the marriage, felt strong, masterful, able to cope with the world. Poor Lionel! Frail barrier against which the stream of Minnie’s life force was to hurl itself! He had but an hour more to remain upright, before he was swept down and submerged and laid flat forever in the mud. An hour more of manhood. II Three o’clock had passed, and he knew that day to be lost. It was five o’clock and he had just lighted the gas when there was a knock at his door, and he discovered Minnie herself in the dark hall. He was surprised and a little shocked; wondered what the landlady would think. Still, of course, he had to ask her in, and in she came, and sat down in his one chair. He was obliged to sit on the bed, an informality very distressing to him. He didn’t like this sort of thing at all; it wasn’t correct, it wasn’t well-bred. He waited and waited for her to speak, but she remained silent, pale and rigid. And no wonder, considering what was in her head! “I’ve brought it!” she said. “Thank you!” he said. “It’s awfully good of you. We’ll never forget it!”