light-hearted, the effervescent of laughter and life, now silent
and almost somber. It was two weeks before she, not easily won
to the confiding mood for all her frankness, let Olivia into her
secret. Of course, it was at night; of course, they were in the
same bed. And when Olivia had heard she came nearer to the truth
about Dumont than had Pauline's mother. But, while she felt sure
there was a way to cure Pauline, she knew that way was not the
one which had been pursued. "They've only made her obstinate,"
she thought, as she, lying with hands clasped behind her head,
watched Pauline, propped upon an elbow, staring with dreamful
determination into the moonlight.

"It'll come out all right," she said; her voice always
suggested that she knew what she was talking about. "Your
father'll give in sooner or later--if YOU don't change."

"But he's so bitter against Jack," replied Pauline. "He won't
listen to his side--to our side--of it."

"Anyhow, what's the use of anticipating trouble? You wouldn't
get married yet. And if he's worthwhile he'll wait."

Pauline had been even gentler than her own judgment in painting
her lover for her cousin's inspection. So, she could not explain
to her why there was necessity for haste, could not confess her
conviction that every month he lived away from her was a month of
peril to him.

"We want it settled," she said evasively.