Ethelyn could not resist Andy, whose face was perfectly radiant as he led her to the floor, and bumped his head against hers in bowing to her.  Eunice was in the same set—­her partner the terrible Tim—­who cracked jokes and threw his feet about in the most astounding fashion.  And Ethelyn bore it all, feeling that by being there with such people she had fallen from the pedestal on which Ethelyn Grant once stood.  Her lavender dress was stepped upon, and her point applique caught and torn by the big pin Andy had upon his coat cuff.  Taken as a whole, that party was the most dreadful of anything Ethelyn had endured and she could have cried for joy when the last guest had said good-night, and she was at liberty to lay her aching head upon her pillow.

Four days after there was a large and fashionable party at Mrs. Judge Miller’s, in Camden, and Ethelyn went over in the cars, taking Eunice with her as dressing-maid, and stopping at the Stafford House.  That night she wore her bridal robes, receiving so much attention that her head was nearly turned with flattery.  She could dance with the young men of Camden, and flirt with them, too—­especially with Harry Clifford, who, she found, had been in college with Frank Van Buren.  Harry Clifford was a fast young man, but pleasant to talk with for a while and Ethelyn found him very agreeable, saving that his mention of Frank made her heart throb unpleasantly; for she fancied he might know something of that page of her past life which she had concealed from Richard.  Nor were her fears without foundation, for once when they were standing together near her husband, Harry said: 

“It seems so strange that you are the Ethie about whom Frank used to talk so much, and a lock of whose hair he kept so sacred.  I remember I tried to buy a part of it from him, but could not succeed until once, when his funds from home failed to come, and he was so hard up, as we used to say, that he actually sold, or rather pawned, half of the shining tress for the sum of five dollars.  As the pawn was never redeemed, I have the hair now, but never expected to meet with its fair owner, who needs not to be told that the tress is tenfold more valuable since I have met her, and know her to be the wife of our esteemed Member,” and young Clifford bowed toward Richard, whose face wore a perplexed, dissatisfied expression.

He did not fancy Harry Clifford much, and he certainly did not care to hear that he had in his possession a lock of Ethelyn’s hair, while the allusions to Frank Van Buren were anything but agreeable to him.  Neither did he like Ethelyn’s painful blushes, and her evident desire for Harry to stop.  It looked as if the hair business meant more than he would like to suppose.  Naturally bright and quick, young Clifford detected Richard’s thoughts, and directly began to wonder if there were not something somewhere which Judge Markham did not understand.

“I mean to find out,” he thought, and watching an opportunity, when Ethelyn was comparatively alone, he crossed to her side and said in a low tone, “Excuse me, Mrs. Markham.  If in my illusions to Frank Van Buren I touched a subject which has never been discussed between yourself and your husband, I meant no harm, I assure you.”