Yet how easily she read his lameness, and estimated his father's words. Dangerous blood--tainted? Ostermoor had feared her tongue; the women in his household talked shrilly and long upon far less provocation. But she only sat and seemed to smile. "I see," was all she said. And while she smiled, her cheeks hot, his eyes had crept over her. Her slenderness was rounded, her slimness soft and full. A girl, it came upon him, for whom a man's arms might still yearn in spite of himself. "This--this needn't mean any real break between us," he hoped, with what he intended as a worldly careless air. He'd never have dared that a week earlier; he had always been too conscious until that moment of a certain unapproachability, a transcendent daintiness, audacious and the reverse from fragile, which nevertheless had kept him at arms' length. But with his father's words in his ears--dangerous!--tainted!--he managed it easily. "Of course we couldn't arrange it here in town, where we're known--" "Arrange what?" "Well, I thought maybe--" Her calmness, hers by right of breeding, lamed him again and angered him to coarse effrontery. "I don't suppose there's many in town now who'd care to take a chance--" "A chance on what?" "Well, on marrying you. This is a pretty conservative community. But I thought if we could find a place quietly, not too far away, where we--" She rang a bell and summoned a butler who was also cook, and coachman too. "Show Mr. Ostermoor out," she directed, calm still. But the terms of that order were only out of regard for the extreme age of the servitor. He would attempt to obey her she knew; had he been younger she would have directed that Mr. Ostermoor be thrown out. A week later the estate was settled up. Naturally Ostermoor's father, who was president of the local bank, knew that there wasn't going to be any estate, yet the total of her father's paper must have staggered him. I hope so. And when she was proved to be practically penniless, immediately they all felt that they had evened their score with her. For what? Oh, for driving so sweet and cool along a dusty, maple-shaded main street, as pleasant and courteous to ordinary tradespeople as she was to better folk. Then, in a surprisingly short while, whenever somebody happened to mention her and wonder where she had gone, they found that they had already started to forget her. "Somewhere West. I did hear the name of the place. But I can't remember it." They were above reproach,--in their geography. She had gone somewhere west, and sometimes I am not sure that there isn't a heartache in the reason for her going.