“My—­Mr. Deacon isn’t here.”

“Oh.”

“No.  He’s West.”

“Oh, I see.”

Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, could invent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away.

She went to the post-office.  It was early, there were few at the post-office—­with only one or two there had she to go through her examination.  Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for a new ordeal.

To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, a slim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling.

“Excuse me,” said Lulu faintly.

The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paper which he held.

“Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?”

“Let’s see—­you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?”

“No.  It’s his brother.  He’s been here.  From Oregon.  I thought he might have given you his address—­” she dwindled away.

“Wait a minute,” said the youth.  “Nope.  No address here.  Say, why don’t you send it to his brother?  He’d know.  Dwight Deacon, the dentist.”

“I’ll do that,” Lulu said absurdly, and turned away.

She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from them all.  Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face.  But when she passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw her reflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure.

“Well!” she thought, almost in Ina’s own manner.

Abruptly her confidence rose.

Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned.  They were in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch with Bobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantly singing.

Lulu sat down with her hat on.  When Dwight inquired playfully, “Don’t we look like company?” she did not reply.  He looked at her speculatively.  Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told?  Ina looked at her rather fearfully.  But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and ate cardamom seeds.

“Whom did you see?” Ina asked.

Lulu named them.

“See them to talk to?” from Dwight.

Oh, yes.  They had all stopped.

“What did they say?” Ina burst out.

They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more.

Dwight mulled this.  Lulu might have told every one of these women that cock-and-bull story with which she had come home.  It might be all over town.  Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out—­should do so, in fact.  Still the story would be all over town.

“Dwight,” said Lulu, “I want Ninian’s address.”

“Going to write to him!” Ina cried incredulously.

“I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted.”

“My dear Lulu,” Dwight said impatiently, “you are not the one to write.  Have you no delicacy?”