“Isn’t it?” Harriet whispered the question, as if to herself.  Her eyes looked beyond him darkly; the girl was young and innocent, greedy for flattery, eager to live.  What chance had little Nina Carter against charm like his—­experience like his?  Harriet wondered if she could look dispassionately on while Nina dimpled and flushed over her love affair, while gowns were made and presents unpacked.  Could she help to pin a veil over that stupid little head; could she wave good-bye to Royal Blondin and his girl wife; could she picture the room where Nina’s ignorance that night must face his sophistication, his passion, his coarseness?

They had come to the particular lane that led to Crownlands now, and she stood still by the ivy-covered brick wall, her face dark and sober with thought in the soft, clear twilight.

“There won’t be any kidnapping or chloroform about it!” Royal reminded her.

“No—­I know!” she answered, with a swift glance of pain.  “But—­”

But what?  The alternative was Linda’s house, at twenty-seven instead of seventeen, and with the vague cloud over her even more definite than before.  Harriet winced.  Nina, whispered her mind, was far less ignorant than Harriet had been at her age.

“Life—­the truths of life,” Royal said, as if he read her thought, “may not be to everyone what they—­might be—­might have been—­to you!” The colour rushed to her face.

“Please, Roy—!” she said, suffocated.

“I may never be asked to the house after to-morrow night,” said Blondin, after a pause, realizing that he was gaining ground.  “She won’t be here to-morrow night.  This may be the beginning and end of it.  All I ask is that if I am made welcome here, on my own merits, you won’t interfere!  The mere fact that you’re living here doesn’t mean that you have the moral responsibility of the family on your shoulders, does it?  Does it?”

“No-o,” Harriet admitted, in a troubled tone.

“Of course not!  You live your life, and I mine.  Is there anything wrong about that?”

He looked down with quiet triumph at the exquisite face, never more beautiful than in this soft light, against the setting of maples and brick wall.

“You know you would never look at that girl except for her money, Roy!” she burst out.

“Nor would any one else!” he amended, suavely.

Harriet gave a distressed laugh.

“Come!  You and I never saw each other until this week,” Blondin urged.  “That’s the whole story.”

Before she answered, the girl looked beyond him at the splendid stables and lawns of Crownlands.  One of the great cars was in the garage doorway, its lamps winking like eyes in the dusk.  An old gardener was utilizing the last of the daylight, his back bent over a green box border.  Beyond, lights showed in the side windows of the great house.  Harriet could see pinkish colour up at her own porch; Nina