The world? It was not this thought which in this moment of harrowing decision seemed to scratch her soul like an etcher's needle. She was thinking now only of Harry Sevier. He stood out alone, sharply, clearly defined against the meaningless multitude. She could no longer take refuge in her pride; that had vanished long ago in the misery of his absence. She wanted him, and him only, desired him with all the strength of her woman's love, which had been sharpened and deepened by the experiences through which she had been passing. When he returned, it would be to find her the centre of an open scandal, sprung to new and sensational life--the "mysterious woman" who had been blazoned in a hundred headlines, her name no longer spotless, but cheapened by tawdry mystery and smirched by innuendo! Would it not kill any vestige of love his heart might still hold for her? And yet beneath her dread and apprehension there had come to her in her struggle the awakening of something as deep and imperative as her love--the insistent "Thou shalt!"--the nascent must of truth and honour, fruit of generations of clean ancestry, which brought clearer vision and resolve. She turned from the gate at length, her step dragging as if from weariness. She had a strange feeling that in that final hour of decision she had grown physically and mentally old. As she neared the house, there came from the placid street the raucous _honk_ of a motor and the sound of masculine voices lifted in a song whose refrain solicitously inquired as to the whereabouts of a certain dog named Rover. The chording was somewhat uncertain, but any lack was more than made up by laughter and noise. She recognised the baritone as that of her brother, Chisholm. Chilly jumped down at the gate, and as the automobile turned and sped back, its occupants calling jovial good-byes, he ran after her up the drive. Overtaking her, he leaned to kiss her cheek, as she caught a familiar odour upon his breath. She turned her face aside. He noted this with a little laugh. "Come, prunes and prisms," he said, "out with it! Yes, I've had a drink--numerous ones, in fact. Now on with the lecture; let joy be unconfined!" "When did I ever lecture you, Chilly?" Echo answered, dully. "You _have_ been pretty decent, that's a fact, Echo," he responded, with humorous lugubriousness. "I wish father took after you more!" They had reached the porch now and he stole a quick glance through the window. "I discern the shadow of my doting parent aforesaid," he remarked flippantly, "and having a due regard for the proprieties--and peace--I think I'll slip in the side-door and give the prodigal a wash-up and a clove before he enters the lion's den." He nodded laughingly and left her to enter the front door alone.