Hot anger sent the blood to his cheek. He had been blind to be thus caught off his guard. Into what madness had this woman beguiled him! Well, in the future the siren should chant her Lorelei songs to deaf ears. Her spell would be in vain. He had found himself now. His wayward feet had recovered their stand upon the solid rock of principle, from which for the moment they had been tempted into straying. He would demonstrate to this Lucy Webster that any friendliness between them was done and over. What an ass a clever woman could make of a man! That any one could so circumvent him was unbelievable. Shaking the rain viciously from his umbrella, he mounted the steps, blew out the lantern, and stalked into the house. Mary, Eliza, and Jane looked up expectantly as he entered. It was evident that a multitude of questions trembled on their lips. He hoped they would offer an apology or explanation for their conduct and thereby furnish him with the opportunity for berating them and relieving his soul of the bitterness that rankled there. To lash somebody, anybody, with his tongue would have been a solace. But although Jane faced him defiantly, and Mary and Eliza with anticipatory timidity, no one of the three spoke. They seemed to be waiting for him to strike the first blow. Twice he attempted it, assuming first an injured then an outraged attitude. But on second thought, he abandoned the attack. After all, what was there to say? Should he rail at them for asking Lucy to the house? The fair face with its uplifted eyes came before his vision. No, he was not sorry the girl had come. Though he must never see her again, must never speak to her or touch her hand, he was glad he had been vouchsafed this one glimpse into Paradise. He might forbid his sisters ever to have anything more to do with her. But he could not bring himself to do that either. And even suppose he were to make the demand. Jane might refuse to comply with it. There was mutiny in her eyes, a mutiny he might not be able to suppress unless he resorted to drastic measures; and, smarting as he was from the scorn and humiliation of his recent defeat, he was in no mood to cut himself off from the only sympathy within his reach by creating a breach between himself and his sisters. Therefore he loitered self-consciously before the stove as if to dry his wet clothing and then ambled across the room, remarking in offhand fashion: "It's settin' in for quite a rain." "Yes, it's a hard shower," Mary ventured, turning a puzzled glance upon her brother. "We need it though." "Yes, the ground was like chalk," agreed Martin. Thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he took a few nervous strides around the room and, prompted by an impulse he could not have explained, he stopped and absently drew down the window shade on the side of the kitchen toward the Webster homestead.