What troubled Janet above all, however, was the attitude of Lise, who also came in for her share of implied reproach.  Of late Lise had become an increased source of anxiety to Hannah, who was unwisely resolved to make this occasion an object lesson.  And though parental tenderness had often moved her to excuse and defend Lise for an increasing remissness in failing to contribute to the household expenses, she was now quite relentless in her efforts to wring from Lise an acknowledgment of the nobility of her sister’s act, of qualities in Janet that she, Lise, might do well to cultivate.  Lise was equally determined to withhold any such acknowledgment; in her face grew that familiar mutinous look that Hannah invariably failed to recognize as a danger signal; and with it another —­the sophisticated expression of one who knows life and ridicules the lack of such knowledge in others.  Its implication was made certain when the two girls were alone in their bedroom after supper.  Lise, feverishly occupied with her toilet, on her departure broke the silence there by inquiring:—­“Say, if I had your easy money, I might buy a stove, too.  How much does Ditmar give you, sweetheart?”

Janet, infuriated, flew at her sister.  Lise struggled to escape.

“Leave me go” she whimpered in genuine alarm, and when at length she was released she went to the mirror and began straightening her hat, which had flopped to one side of her head.  “I didn’t mean nothin’, I was only kiddie’ you—­what’s the use of gettin’ nutty over a jest?”

“I’m not like-you,” said Janet.

“I was only kiddin’, I tell you,” insisted Lise, with a hat pin in her mouth.  “Forget it.”

When Lise had gone out Janet sat down in the rocking-chair and began to rock agitatedly.  What had really made her angry, she began to perceive, was the realization of a certain amount of truth in her sister’s intimation concerning Ditmar.  Why should she have, in Lise, continually before her eyes a degraded caricature of her own aspirations and ideals? or was Lise a mirror—­somewhat tarnished, indeed—­in which she read the truth about herself?  For some time Janet had more than suspected that her sister possessed a new lover—­a lover whom she refrained from discussing; an ominous sign, since it had been her habit to dangle her conquests before Janet’s eyes, to discuss their merits and demerits with an engaging though cynical freedom.  Although the existence of this gentleman was based on evidence purely circumstantial, Janet was inclined to believe him of a type wholly different from his predecessors; and the fact that his attentions were curiously intermittent and irregular inclined her to the theory that he was not a resident of Hampton.  What was he like?  It revolted her to reflect that he might in some ways possibly resemble Ditmar.  Thus he became the object of a morbid speculation, especially at such times as this, when Lise attired herself in her new winter finery and went forth to