"Lydia wouldn't ring the bell, and her train isn't due till ten," Mrs. Mortimer reminded her. "Oh, yes. Well, then, it's the new sideboard. I am so--" "It's a boy with a big pasteboard box," contradicted Mrs. Mortimer, looking down the hall to the open front door. Seeing someone there to receive it, the boy set the box inside the screen door and started down the steps. "Bring it here! Bring it here!" called Mrs. Mortimer, commandingly. "It's for Lydia," said Mrs. Emery, looking at the address. She spoke with an accent of dramatic intensity, and a flush rose to her fair cheeks. Her olive-skinned daughter looked at her and laughed. "What did you expect?" "But he didn't care enough about her coming home to be in town to-day!" Mrs. Emery's maternal vanity flared up hotly. Mrs. Mortimer laughed again and began taking the layers of crumpled wax-paper out of the box. "Oh, that was the trouble with you, was it? That's nothing. He had to be away to see about a new electrical plant in Dayton. Did you ever know Paul Hollister to let anything interfere with business?" This characterization was delivered with an intonation that made it the most manifest praise. Her mother seconded it with unquestioning acquiescence. "No, that's a fact; I never did." Mrs. Mortimer in her turn had an accent of dramatic intensity as she cried out, "Oh! they are American Beauties! The biggest I ever saw!" The two women looked at the flowers, almost awestruck at their size. "Have you a vase?" Mrs. Mortimer asked dubiously. Mrs. Emery rose to the occasion. "The Japanese umbrella stand." There was a pause as they reverently arranged the great sheaf of enormous flowers. Then Mrs. Emery began, "Marietta--" She hesitated. "Well," Mrs. Mortimer prompted her, a little impatiently. "Do you really think that he--that Lydia--?" Marietta accepted with a somewhat pinched smile her mother's boundary lines of reticence. "Of course. Did you ever know Paul Hollister to give up anything he wanted?" Her mother shook her head. Mrs. Mortimer rose with a "Well, then!" and the air of one who has said all there is to be said on a subject, and again crossed the room toward the door. Her mother drifted aimlessly in that direction also, as though swept along by the other's energy. "Well, it's a pity he is not here now, anyhow," she said, adding in a spirited answer to her daughter's expression, "Now, you needn't look that way, Marietta. You know yourself that Lydia is very romantic and fanciful. It would be a very different matter if she were like Madeleine Hollister. She wouldn't need any managing." Mrs. Mortimer smiled at the idea. "Yes, I'd like to see somebody try to manage Paul's sister," she commented.