She laughed again, but there was moisture in her look. For the thousandth
time, her heart told her that in this untoward marriage she was wrenching
herself anew from her father and all his world.

Polly rather tossed her head at the mention of Hubert. She replied with
some tartness that he was doing very well--nobody indeed could be doing
better. Did Laura's eyebrows go up the very slightest trifle? If so, the
sister beat down the surprise. Hubert no doubt had been upset, and a bit
wild, after--well, Laura might guess what! But that was all past now,
long ago. There was a friend, a musical friend, a rescuer, who had
appeared, in the shape of a young organist who had come to lead the
Froswick Philharmonic Society. Hubert was living with him now; and the
young man, of whom all Froswick thought a wonderful deal, was looking
after him, and making him write his songs. Some of them were to be sung
at a festival----

Laura clapped her hands.

"I told him!" she said gayly. "If he'll only work, he'll do. And he is
keeping straight?"

Her look was keen and sisterly. She wished to show that she had forgotten
and forgiven. But Polly resented it.

"Why shouldn't he be keeping straight?" she asked. No doubt Laura had
thought him just a ne'er do weel. But he was nothing of the sort--he was
a bit wild and unruly, as young men are--"same as t' colts afoor yo break
'em." But Laura would have done much better for herself if she had stayed
quietly with him that night at Braeside, and let him take her over the
sands, as he wished to, instead of running away from him in that foolish