It was during the third summer that Judith compassed her desire of standing within the portals of the Compton house. Celia, sitting with her mother and brother and their visitors in the shadow of the Dorian pillars, in the idleness of a warm afternoon, saw Judith's carriage approach, and--instead of passing, stop. Judith, in splendid array, descended and came forward. Celia, wondering, arose. When the ordinary formalities had been dispatched, Celia ushered Miss Bray into the long museum-like sitting-room, with the odor of strange old far-away things. Judith, while she spoke, could not keep her eyes from roving. She said, and a simple-minded, rich delight in what she had to say, and felt herself able to do, pierced through her expressions: "I understand, Miss Compton, that you don't like the idea of a line of electric cars running through our village and down to the lake. Some one said so. You think it would spoil the looks of the old street and bring a lot of rough Sunday people. I wanted to hear it directly from you, to be quite sure, for it really, when all is said, you know, depends upon my father, and my father--" she laughed with roguish audacity--"does exactly what I want him to. It's true he's set his heart on the line--it's progress, in his way of looking. But if you don't want it, there shan't be any car-line. Isn't it fun? There's a town-hall and select-men, and all that, but it really depends upon us two. My Dad will do anything I say, and I'll do anything you say. There!... You've only got to speak...." Celia had felt herself growing pale with the sheer force of antipathy. Her nervous hands were so near trembling, she reached to a jade cup and took from it a string of curious blue beads with which to keep them occupied. She replied in precisely modulated tones; "You are mistaken in believing I care--beyond a certain point. I had rather there were electric cars than--than certain other things. Personally, it can affect me very little--since I believe we shall soon cease altogether coming here for the summer." Judith, the dense, went away charmed with her call. She had loitered a little while on the porch, in chatter with the company, and been escorted to her carriage by the brother. She was amply discussed after her departure, she and her errand; the brother and the other man, as far as circumstances permitted, wedging in good words for her, with half-ironical good-humor. The small, withered gentlewoman in the rocking-chair said, "I fear you will be obliged to call upon her, Celia, after all."