“I’d rather look like a floorwasher than—­than another kind of woman,” Janet declared.

“Well, you’ve got your wish, sweetheart,” said Lise.  “You needn’t be scared anybody will pick you up.”

“I’m not,” said Janet....

This quarrel had taken place a week or so before Janet’s purchase of the stove.  Hannah, too, was outraged by Lise’s costume, and had also been moved to protest; futile protest.  Its only effect on Lise was to convince her of the existence of a prearranged plan of persecution, to make her more secretive and sullen than ever before.

“Sometimes I just can’t believe she’s my daughter,” Hannah said dejectedly to Janet when they were alone together in the kitchen after Lise had gone out.  “I’m fond of her because she’s my own flesh and blood—­I’m ashamed of it, but I can’t help it.  I guess it’s what the minister in Dolton used to call a visitation.  I suppose I deserve it, but sometimes I think maybe if your father had been different he might have been able to put a stop to the way she’s going on.  She ain’t like any of the Wenches, nor any of the Bumpuses, so far’s I’m able to find out.  She just don’t seem to have any notion about right and wrong.  Well, the world has got all jumbled up—­it beats me.”

Hannah wrung out the mop viciously and hung it over the sink.

“I used to hope some respectable man would come along, but I’ve quit hopin’.  I don’t know as any respectable man would want Lise, or that I could honestly wish him to have her.”

“Mother!” protested Janet.  Sometimes, in those conversations, she was somewhat paradoxically impelled to defend her sister.

“Well, I don’t,” insisted Hannah, “that’s a fact.  I’ll tell you what she looks like in that hat and cloak—­a bad woman.  I don’t say she is—­I don’t know what I’d do if I thought she was, but I never expected my daughter to look like one.”

“Oh, Lise can take care of herself,” Janet said, in spite of certain recent misgivings.

“This town’s Sodom and Gomorrah rolled into one,” declared Hannah who, from early habit, was occasionally prone to use scriptural parallels.  And after a moment’s silence she inquired:  “Who’s this man that’s payin’ her attention now?”

“I don’t know,” replied Janet, “I don’t know that there’s anybody.”

“I guess there is,” said Hannah.  “I used to think that that Wiley was low enough, but I could see him.  It was some satisfaction.  I could know the worst, anyhow....  I guess it’s about time for another flood.”

This talk had left Janet in one of these introspective states so frequent in her recent experience.  Her mother had used the words “right” and “wrong.”  But what was “right,” or “wrong?” There was no use asking Hannah, who—­she perceived—­was as confused and bewildered as herself.  Did she refuse to encourage Mr. Ditmar because it was wrong? because, if she acceded to his desires, and what were often