"Or lack of it?" Miss Anne studied her embroidery thoughtfully, and threaded a needle before she went on. "There are two ways to economize, if we can get Louis to agree."
"I can make him agree," Hildegarde said. "Tell me what they are."
Miss Anne looked at her. "How can you make him agree," she said in a surprised voice.
"I'll tell him I won't stay—that I'll go back to the farm—"
"Do you think he'd believe that?"
"Why not?"
Miss Anne, shading the crewels for a fat plum from damson to deep purple, answered after a moment: "You could never go back, my dear. You couldn't endure the hardships."
"My mother endured them."
"She was different. You have a lot of Louis in you. You love luxury and lovely things."
"Mother said that. She said that I had Daddy's gaiety—his faun-like quality of enjoyment."
Miss Anne nodded. "You belong in this environment."
Hildegarde hesitated, then flung out, "But I can't be happy at the price of dishonor."
Miss Anne laid down her work. "What do you mean?"
Hildegarde told her what she had heard behind the curtain. "Aunt Anne, I felt as if Mr. Winslow was a spider and was weaving a web about Daddy."
"Louis is to blame," there was red in Miss Anne's
