All of Mrs. Page's grievances had worked their way to the surface. Sidney
and Harriet had made her world, such as it was, and her world was in
revolt. She flung out her hands.

"I suppose I must do something. With you leaving, and Sidney renting her
room and sleeping on a folding-bed in the sewing-room, everything seems
upside down. I never thought I should live to see strange men running in
and out of this house and carrying latch-keys."

This in reference to Le Moyne, whose tall figure had made a hurried exit
some time before.

Nothing could have symbolized Harriet's revolt more thoroughly than her
going upstairs after a hurried breakfast, and putting on her hat and coat.
She had heard of rooms, she said, and there was nothing urgent in the
work-room. Her eyes were brighter already as she went out. Sidney,
kissing her in the hall and wishing her luck, realized suddenly what a
burden she and her mother must have been for the last few years. She threw
her head up proudly. They would never be a burden again--never, as long as
she had strength and health!

By evening Mrs. Page had worked herself into a state bordering on hysteria.
Harriet was out most of the day. She came in at three o'clock, and Katie
gave her a cup of tea. At the news of her sister's condition, she merely
shrugged her shoulders.

"She'll not die, Katie," she said calmly. "But see that Miss Sidney eats
something, and if she is worried tell her I said to get Dr. Ed."

Very significant of Harriet's altered outlook was this casual summoning of