Lydia looked after her, disappointed. She had been quite stirred by the hope of giving some pleasure. There was little to break the long, lonely, monotonous expectancy of her life. And yet nothing surprised those who knew her better than her equable physical poise during this time of trial and discomfort. Everyone had expected so high-strung a creature to be "half-wild with nerves." But Lydia, although she continued to say occasional disconcerting things, seemed on the whole to be gaining maturity and firmness of purpose. Paul was away a great deal that summer and she had many long, solitary hours to pass--a singular contrast to the feverish hurry of the winter "season." Her old habit of involuntary questioning scrutiny came back and it is possible that her motto of "action at all costs" was passed under a closer mental review than during the winter; but though she went frequently to see her godfather and Mrs. Sandworth, she did not break her silence on whatever thoughts were occupying her mind, except in one brief, questioning explosion. This was on the occasion of her last visit to Endbury before her confinement, a few days after her call from Flora Burgess. It had occurred to her that they might know something about the reporter's family and she stopped in after her shopping to inquire. She found her aunt and her godfather sitting in the deeply shaded, old grape arbor in their back yard; Dr. Melton with a book, as always, Mrs. Sandworth ungirdled and expansive, tinkling an ice-filled cup and crying out upon the weather. "Sit down, Lydia, for mercy's sake, and cool off. Yes; we know all about her; she's a patient of Marius'. Have some lemonade! Isn't it fearful! And Marius keeps reading improving books! It makes me so much hotter! She's English, you know." Dr. Melton looked up from his book to remark, with his usual judicial moderation, "I could strangle that old harridan with joy. She has been one of the most pernicious influences the women of this town have ever had." "Flora Burgess' mother? Why, I never heard of her in the world until the other day." "You can't smell sewer gas," said the doctor briefly. Mrs. Sandworth laughed. "Marius almost killed himself last winter to pull her through pneumonia. He worked over her night and day. Oh, Marius is a great deal better than he talks--strangle--!" "I'm a fool, if that's what you mean," said the doctor. "What is the matter with Flora Burgess' mother?" asked Lydia. "She's been a plague spot in this town for years--that lower-middle-class old Briton, with her beastly ideas of caste--ever since she began sending out her daughter to preach her damnable gospel to defenseless Endbury homes." "Marius--my _dear_!" chided Mrs. Sandworth--"The Gospel--damnable! You forget yourself!" The doctor did not laugh. "They're the ones," he went on, "who first started this idiotic idea of there being a social stigma attached to living in any but just such parts of town."