forebodings. She had not worried much about Harry's passion for Lucy
Lugur. She was sure that his Mediterranean trip would introduce him to
girls so much lovelier than Lucy that he would practically have
forgotten her when he returned. Harry had been in love with half a dozen
girls before Lucy. She let Harry slip out of her consideration.

John's case was different. It was vitally true and intense. She
understood that John must marry or be miserable, and she faced the
situation with brimming eyes and a very heavy heart. She had given John
her loving sympathy, and she would not retract a word of it to him. But
to God she could open her heart and to Him she could tell even those
little things she would not speak of to any human being. She could ask
God to remember that, boy and man, John had stood by her side for nearly
thirty years, and that he was leaving her for a woman who had been
unknown a year ago.

She could tell God that John's enthusiastic praise of this strange woman
had been hard to bear, and she divined that at least for a time she
might have to share her home with her. She anticipated all the little
offenses she must overlook, all the small unconsidered slights she must
pass by. She knew there would be difficulties and differences in which
youth and beauty would carry the day against truth and justice; and she
sat hour after hour marshaling these trials of her love and temper and
facing them all to their logical end.

Some women would have said, "Time enough to face a trial when it comes."
No, it is too late then. Trials apprehended are trials defended; and
Martha Hatton knew that she could not trust herself with unexpected
trials. In that case she believed the natural woman would behave herself
naturally, and say the words and do the deeds called forth by the