woman of her class would do. He would send her a telegram at once,
stating that he would be down in the morning. But, no, that would only
add to the tangible evidence against him. He would wait and see her as
soon as possible after his arrival. Yes, yes, that would have to do,
and in the mean time--the mean time--

Mostyn paced the floor as restlessly as a caged tiger. There were
mental pictures of himself as already a discredited, ruined man.
Mitchell had turned from him in scorn; Saunders was placidly appealing
to him to withdraw from a tottering firm, and old Jeff Henderson was
going from office to office, bank to bank, whining, "I told you so!"
At any rate--Mostyn tried to grasp it as a solace worth holding--there
was Dolly, and here was open sunlight and a new and different life.
But she would hear of the scandal, and that surely would alter the
gentle child's view of him. Irene Mitchell would overlook such an
offense if she gave it a second thought, but Dolly--Dolly was
different. It would simply stun her.

Dinner was over. Tom Drake and John Webb were chatting under the apple
trees in the orchard, where Webb had placed a cider-press of a new
design which was to be tried the next day. Mrs. Drake had retired to
her room for a nap. Ann had gone to see a girl friend in the
neighborhood, and Dolly was in the parlor reading the books Saunders
had given her. Mostyn hesitated about joining her, but the temptation
was too great to be withstood. She looked up from her book as he
entered and smiled impulsively, then the smile died away and she fixed
him with a steady stare of inquiry.

"Why, what has happened?" she faltered.