“That’s a pretty story,” said Dwight contemptuously.

“He says if she’d been alive, she’d been after him for a divorce.  And she never has been, so he thinks she must be dead.  The trouble is,” Lulu said again, “he wasn’t sure.  And I had to be sure.”

“Well, but mercy,” said Ina, “couldn’t he find out now?”

“It might take a long time,” said Lulu simply, “and I didn’t want to stay and not know.”

“Well, then, why didn’t he say so here?” Ina’s indignation mounted.

“He would have.  But you know how sudden everything was.  He said he thought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of course that’d been hard—­wouldn’t it?  And then he felt so sure she was dead.”

“Why did he tell you at all, then?” demanded Ina, whose processes were simple.

“Yes.  Well!  Why indeed?” Dwight Herbert brought out these words with a curious emphasis.

“I thought that, just at first,” Lulu said, “but only just at first.  Of course that wouldn’t have been right.  And then, you see, he gave me my choice.”

“Gave you your choice?” Dwight echoed.

“Yes.  About going on and taking the chances.  He gave me my choice when he told me, there in Savannah, Georgia.”

“What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?” Dwight asked.

“Why, he’d got to thinking about it,” she answered.

A silence fell.  Lulu sat looking out toward the street.

“The only thing,” she said, “as long as it happened, I kind of wish he hadn’t told me till we got to Oregon.”

“Lulu!” said Ina.  Ina began to cry.  “You poor thing!” she said.

Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving to understand all.  Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking her body.  Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee.

“He felt bad too,” Lulu said.

“He!” said Dwight.  “He must have.”

“It’s you,” Ina sobbed.  “It’s you. My sister!”

“Well,” said Lulu, “but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, or I wouldn’t have come home.  I knew,” she added, “it’d make Dwight feel bad.  I mean, it was his brother—­”

“Thank goodness,” Ina broke in, “nobody need know about it.”

Lulu regarded her, without change.

“Oh, yes,” she said in her monotone.  “People will have to know.”

“I do not see the necessity.”  Dwight’s voice was an edge.  Then too he said “do not,” always with Dwight betokening the finalities.

“Why, what would they think?” Lulu asked, troubled.

“What difference does it make what they think?”.

“Why,” said Lulu slowly, “I shouldn’t like—­you see they might—­why, Dwight, I think we’ll have to tell them.”

“You do!  You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is something the whole town will have to know about?”

Lulu looked at him with parted lips.