of pleasurable fear. Then she dismissed the thought with a shrug.
No chance! She might live in a lonely house, two miles from the
railroad station, all summer long--and the Bat would never disturb
her. Nothing ever did.

She had skimmed through the paper hurriedly; now a headline caught
her eye. Failure of Union Bank--wasn't that the bank of which
Courtleigh Fleming had been president? She settled down to read
the article but it was disappointingly brief. The Union Bank had
closed its doors; the cashier, a young man named Bailey, was
apparently under suspicion; the article mentioned Courtleigh
Fleming's recent and tragic death in the best vein of newspaperese.
She laid down the paper and thought--Bailey--Bailey--she seemed
to have a vague recollection of hearing about a young man named
Bailey who worked in a bank--but she could not remember where or
by whom his name had been mentioned.

Well--it didn't matter. She had other things to think about. She
must ring for Lizzie--get up and dress. The bright morning sun,
streaming in through the long window, made lying in bed an old
woman's luxury and she refused to be an old woman.

"Though the worst old woman I ever knew was a man!" she thought
with a satiric twinkle. She was glad Sally's daughter--young Dale
Ogden--was here in the house with her. The companionship of Dale's
bright youth would keep her from getting old-womanish if anything
could.

She smiled, thinking of Dale. Dale was a nice child--her favorite
niece. Sally didn't understand her, of course--but Sally wouldn't.