pulled a few curly locks loose on her temples, thinking half
indignantly and shamefacedly how she should see that young man again.
Lois was bewildered and terrified, borne down by reflected guilt,
almost as if it were her own. She had a wild dread of this going out
to tea, meeting more strangers, and seeing her mother act out a
further lie; but she could not help being a young girl, and arranging
those little locks on her forehead for Francis Arms to see.

When she and her mother stepped out of the door, a strong wind came
in their faces.

"Wait a minute," said Mrs. Field. She went back into the house and
got Lois's sack. "Put this on," said she.

And Lois put it on.

The wind was from the east, and had the salt smell of the sea. All
the white-flowering bushes in the yards and the fruit trees bowed
toward the west. There was a storm of white petals. Lois, as she and
her mother walked against the wind, kept putting her hand to her
hair, to keep it in place.

Mrs. Maxwell's house was a large cottage with a steep Gothic roof
jutting over a piazza on each side. The house was an old one, and
originally very simple in its design; but there had been evidently at
some time a flood-tide of prosperity in the fortunes of its owner,
which had left marks in various improvements. There was a large
ornate bay-window in front, which contrasted oddly with the severe
white peak of wall above it; the piazzas had railings in elaborate
scroll-work; and the windows were set with four large panes of glass,