Mrs. Dyckman groped for it and took it back. “Don't be vexed. Or if you must be, pout as you used to. You mustn't grow hard, my child. Your type of beauty doesn't improve with cynicism. You must think sweet thoughts or simply be petulant when you're angry. Don't grow hard! If nothing else will move you let me appeal to your pride. You are traveling with a hard crowd, a cruel pack, Miss Bettany's pack, and a silly lot of men like Jake Vanderveer. And you mustn't, my child. You just mustn't get hard and brazen. Couldn't you give up Miss Bettany? She's an absolutely unprincipled creature. She's bad, and you must know it. Don't you?” Kedzie could not answer, or would not. Mrs. Dyckman's voice grew poignant. “I've lived so long and seen so much unhappiness. There is so much tragedy across the water. My poor daughter has had a cable that her husband's brother has been killed in France. Her husband has been wounded; she is sailing back. So many men, so many, many men are dying. The machine-guns go like scythes all day long, and the poor fellows lie out there in the shrapnel rain--Oh, it is unbelievable. And Europe's women are undergoing such endless sorrow; every day over there the lists contain so many names. So many of Cicely's friends have perished. Life never was so full of sorrow, my dear, but it is such a noble sorrow that it seems as if nobody, had any right to any other kind of sorrow. “You are young, dear child. You are lonely and restless; but you don't realize how loathsome it is to other people to see such recklessness going on over here while such lofty souls are going to death in droves over there. The sorrow you will bring on yourself and all of us, and on poor Jim, will be such a hateful sorrow, my dear, such an unworthy grief!” Kedzie choked, and mumbled, “I don't think I know what you mean.” Mrs. Dyckman petted her hand: “I don't think you do. I hope not. But take an old woman's word for it, be--be Caesar's wife?” “Caesar's wife?” Kedzie puzzled. “What did she do?” “It was what she didn't do. Well, I haven't the strength--or the right, perhaps--to tell you any more. Yes, I will. I must say this much. You are the subject of very widespread criticism, and Jim is being pitied.” “Me criticized? Jim pitied? Why? For what?” “For the things you do, my dear, the places you go, and the hours you keep--and the friends you keep.” “That's disgusting!” Kedzie snarled. “The long-tongued gossips! They ought to be ashamed of themselves.” Mrs. Dyckman's fever began to mount. She dropped Kedzie's hand and tugged at the coverlet. “You'd better go, my dear. I apologize. It's useless! When did age ever gain anything by warning youth? I'm an old fool, and you're a young one. And nothing will stop your ambition to run through life to the end of it and get all you can out of it.” Kedzie felt dismissed and rose in bewildered anger. Mrs. Dyckman heaved herself to one elbow and pointed her finger at Kedzie.