And of course he took her silence to mean it was all one to her whether he went or stayed. But he could not go like that. He hung indecisively at the door of the room. Finally he blurted out like a boy: "I say, what's the matter?" "Why, nothing!" answered Pen with a startled look. "This afternoon we were like pals.... What have I done to offend you?" "Nothing whatever," said Pen. "Oh," he said sorely, "then it's just that you don't fancy my style much anyhow." "Oh, I wouldn't say that!" said Pen with a teasing smile. Heaven knows what it cost her. "I quite understand," he said with a man's absurd injured vanity. "You understand nothing!" murmured Pen. He moved to the front door, and failed to hear her. For a moment or two they looked unhappily out at the night. The moon had risen behind the house and was casting long shadows athwart the lawn. Beyond the edge of the bank there was a mystical sea of subdued radiance. "Well ... good-night ... good-by," he mumbled. "Thank you so much for your kindness ... good-by." "My kindness!" Pen's heart cried. "Good-by," she said aloud, without a suspicion of a shake or a tremor. "Father is in the dining-room." "Please say good-night to him for me," he said hurriedly ... "Good-by." He held out his hand. "Good-by," said Pen, letting her cold fingers lie within his for a moment without any response to his pressure. He went slowly across the front porch and stepped down. She closed the door. She stood there, her arms hanging. Her thoughts were like a dialogue back and forth within her. "He didn't want to go. Why did you send him? .... But what did he want to stay for? Just a summer night's flirtation. That would have finished me. It's better this way ... Maybe he meant it ... No! That sort of happiness is not for me! Might as well get used to it soon as late! ... I'm not going to run upstairs and cry, either! There are the chickens to fasten up, the yeast to make and the milk to set out!" Her arms went up above her head and fell again. "Oh God! but life is dreary!" From the dining-room her father called her in a strange, agitated voice that sent the blood flying from her heart: "Pen! Pen! Come here, quickly!" CHAPTER II THE STORY IN THE _SUN_-PAPER When Pen ran into the dining-room she found the little man seated at the table, his reading glasses on his nose and the newspaper spread before him. The face that he raised to her was pale and moist with excitement; his hands gripping the edge of the paper made it rattle with their trembling. Nevertheless in her first glance Pen was assured that no disaster threatened their house. There was even a sort of pleasure mixed with his horror. Her first reaction was to chagrin at having been frightened for nothing. "What's the matter?" she asked sharply. "Look! Look!" he said, pointing to the paper. With her own swift, swimming motion she moved behind him, and looked down over his shoulder. She read staring headlines: