"'That may be your way--it's not mine!' retorted the other. 'They started the fight, now I'm going to accommodate them. They will think merry hell has broke loose before I'm through with them.' "Then Mr. Burgoyne returned and I heard no more. Can you understand it?" Stephanie shook her head. "I can not," she said--"but possibly Mr. Pendleton can explain it. I shall tell him, if you don't mind, the next time I see him." "Tell him by all means," Marcia responded. "You have my permission." X AT CRISS-CROSS Criss-Cross, the Chamberlain country place, was two hours out by a fast train. Mrs. Chamberlain had been dead a number of years and Gladys presided over her father's establishment with the ease of careful training and the assurance of an only child. She met Stephanie at the station when the latter arrived late that afternoon, and they drove back to Criss-Cross by a round-about way that stretched the two miles into twenty--during which Gladys learned all the happenings of the last week in town, particularly the present attitude of the Queen P's and their followers, resultant from Lorraine's accident and Stephanie's behaviour incident thereto with the prospect of their reconciliation. "Marcia Emerson seems to be an exceedingly nice girl," Stephanie observed. "Two years have done wonders for her." Gladys nodded. "Marcia is a dear!" she replied. "She's a good sport in everything, and she is something to look at besides. The two years that you were away have made her. I don't blame the men for being crazy about her. The only drawback she has is her mother. She's a pusher. She thinks she's put Marcia in society, whereas Marcia has come in naturally, and the old lady rides on her train, so to speak. I can't abide Mrs. Emerson! To me she has about every obnoxious fault of her class. Old Emerson is not half so bad; he is honest and amusing--and the men like him, I understand. I've asked Marcia down to-morrow, for the week-end--you don't mind, I hope." "Not in the least--if _she_ doesn't mind me," said Stephanie. "She knows you are to be here. Mrs. Emerson, however, may throw a fit when she knows it!" Gladys laughed. "Is any one else coming?" Stephanie asked. "Just a few--your friends, of course: Dorothy Tazewell, and Helen Burleston, with Montague Pendleton, Sheldon Burgoyne, Warwick Devereux and Steuart Cameron. Two tables of Auction, you know--and plenty of go to the crowd." "Mayn't I be a wet blanket?" Stephanie suggested. "Why?" was the astonished query. "Do they also know I'm coming? They may not care to be housed up with me for two days." "Sure they know. You're too timid, my dear--when did it come on you?" "Abroad, I reckon," Stephanie replied. "I appear cold and calm enough, but it's all bluff, Gladys. The truth is, I'm scared to death."