Sybil shot a quick sidelong glance at her sister, hesitated a moment, then stopped, bent her head, and whispered, rapidly: "Lord! dear Lord! who seems always so far off, hear me, I pray! Soften this woman's heart toward me, incline her to help me, not because of any merit, but because of my great need. In your blessed Son's name I ask it. Amen!"

And then she hurried on ahead, while Dorothy, radiant with faith, scrabbled and slipped and laughed quite happily as they came out upon the wide, shady avenue, short of breath but sound of limb and skirt and shoe. As they passed the big gate and walked slowly up the driveway of The Beeches they saw a large red sunshade go bobbing around the corner of the house and halted.

"Shall we go on and ring the bell," asked Dorothy, "or shall we venture to follow her?"

"No! no!" answered Sybil. "The last refuge of the genteel beggar who comes to ask a favor is an absolute propriety of behavior—strict conformity to the demands of etiquette. To follow and join our hostess in her garden would be delightfully informal, but it would be too suggestive of familiarity. No! no! We must ring the bell and pass in a few ounces of pasteboard to the housemaid or the boy or——"

But just then there came a sound like a splash of something into water, a scream that trailed off into a gurgle of laughter, and finally clear and distinct the words: "You abominable little beast—poor angel! Hold still! You're wetting me all over, far worse than the lawn sprinkler!" And around the corner of the house came their hostess, her skirts wound well about her, while from her two outstretched hands dangled and kicked a muddy, dripping, coughing, spitting morsel of a skye-terrier. The three women gazed at one another a moment and then burst into laughter.

"If you will rest a little on the veranda—there are seats there—I will join you the moment I am divorced from this small martyr to scientific research. No levity, please, Miss Dorothy." Then suddenly lifting her voice Miss Morrell cried: "Frida! Mary! M—a—r—y! Somebody come here, please!" and swiftly resumed her reproachfully explanatory tone, saying: "This animated bit of mud is, when washed and dried, a very earnest student of biology, or, to be more exact, of zoology, since she is most deeply interested in the structure and daily habits of the fugacious frog, which, up to this time, she has considered a terrestrial beast, inhabiting shady garden beds; but now she knows him to be amphibious; has proved it, indeed, by plunging after him into the muddy depths of the lily tub, just to see for herself, you know. There's devotion to study! Oh, Frida, here you are, at last! Take Mona and put her kindly but very firmly into her tub, no soap, you know, just a thorough rinsing—and then dry her as you would be dried, that is, tenderly. Miss Dorothy, I'm afraid you are what the old comedies call 'a frivol.'" And so with light banter they entered the house.

But Miss Morrell, being an observant person, saw from the first the preoccupation of Sybil, and to her the girl's pale face, cloudy hair, insistent dark eyes, and sullen red mouth, suggested a touch of tragedy, and again she asked herself: "What does she want? What is she demanding of me?"

Dorothy, in answer to Sybil's look, was trying to find some excuse for leaving the two together, and had just expressed a desire to cross the lawn to look at a very fine hawthorn when they saw a young woman coming up the steps and heard a ring of the doorbell. Claire Morrell's eyes happened to be upon Sybil's at the moment, and the look of despair that settled whitely down upon her face made her think, with a quickening pulse, "That's just the expression of face many a woman must have seen reflected from the clear water a moment before the fatal plunge." And going swiftly forward to greet the new-comer, who was her neighbor, she decided to give Miss Lawton a chance to speak with her alone if she so desired. Therefore, directly introductions had been made, she asked Miss Helen Gray if she would not show Miss Dorothy about a bit, and, laughingly joining their hands, she shoo'd them before her, crying: "Go forth, lovers of flowers, and seek diligently for the oriole that hideth the nest in mine orchard! A prize awaits the fair, the chaste, the inexpressive she who first locates that nest!"

And as they went willingly forth Miss Morrell returned to the parlor, pushing to the door nearest the stairs, and remarked, casually: "We've got the whole floor to ourselves, now, so we may expand!"

Then, with a jerk and apropos of nothing, Sybil asked: "Miss Morrell, is it very difficult to get upon the stage?"