"I don't know what mother will say," Mary Hope began, and stopped and hid her eyes behind her hands. Her mother, poor soul, could not say anything. It seemed terrible to Mary Hope that her mother must lie there and endure the presence of the painted Jezebel in her home, and be unable to utter one word of denunciation, one bitter reproach. It was like a judgment; and she could not bear the thought that her mother must suffer it. A judgment, or treachery on her part,--the terrible treason of a child betraying her mother. "It's all right, girl; you don't _know_ our Belle. We'll just leave it to her. She'll find a way. And I'll go out now and tell her all about it, and leave her to manage." "I'll go," Mary Hope decided unexpectedly. "I have things to say--you shall not go, Lance Lorrigan. You will please let me see her alone--first. I'm that afraid of Belle Lorrigan I could creep under the table and hide! And so I shall go alone to her." Lance surrendered, and rolled a cigarette and smoked it in the kitchen, and wondered if a cigarette had ever been smoked in that house before, and whether the ghost of Aleck Douglas was somewhere near, struggling vainly against the inevitable. It certainly was unbelievable that a Lorrigan should be there, master--in effect, at least--of the Douglas household, wearing the shoddy garments of Aleck Douglas, and finding them at least three sizes too small. They were an unconscionably long time out there,--those two women who meant so much to him. He glanced in at Mother Douglas, in bed now and looking terribly shrunken and old. The doctor was with her, sitting close to the bed and leaning forward a little, watching her eyes while he talked soothingly. Lance was not wanted there, either. He returned to the kitchen and put more wood in the stove, and felt tentatively his drying clothes. Belle came in, holding Mary Hope by the hand. The eyes of both were moist, shining, blue as the sky outside. "Lance, honey, I'm glad," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "Hope told me. And don't you two kids worry about me. I'll win my way somehow. I always have--and I guess maybe you've got it in you, too, Lance. It sure took something more than Lorrigan nerve to win Mary Hope--though I'll admit Lorrigan nerve won me. No, I won't go in there now. Don't tell her I'm here, we'll wait awhile." It was dusk, and the lamp had not yet been lighted. Through the unshaded window Mother Douglas could look out at the first pale stars. The doctor had gone. The house was very quiet, the snapping of the kitchen fire, the steady _tick_-tock, _tick_-tock of the old-fashioned clock blending with, rather than breaking, the silence.