It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. I meant to lie to you. I can see that you were somebody, in another day. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself.
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