“They are living in the same house,” returned Lucy, in a stifled shriek, “and—­and—­I found out this afternoon that she—­she is in love with him.  And she is so pretty, and—­” Lucy sobbed wildly.

“Mother has been watching every minute,” said Mrs. Ayres.

“Mother, I haven’t killed him?”

“No, dear.  Mother made the candy.”

Lucy sobbed and trembled convulsively.  Mrs. Ayres stroked her hair until she was a little quieter, then she spoke.  “Lucy,” she said, “the time has come for you to listen to mother, and you must listen.”

Lucy looked up at her with her soft, terrible eyes.

“You are not in love with this last man,” said Mrs. Ayres, quietly.  “You were not in love with any of the others.  It is all because you are a woman, and the natural longings of a woman are upon you.  The time has come for you to listen and understand.  It is right that you should have what you want, but if the will of God is otherwise you must make the best of it.  There are other things in life, or it would be monstrous.  It will be no worse for you than for thousands of other women who go through life unmarried.  You have no excuse to—­commit crime or to become a wreck.  I tell you there are other things besides that which has taken hold of you, soul and body.  There are spiritual things.  There is the will of God, which is above the will of the flesh and the will of the fleshly heart.  It is for you to behave yourself and take what comes.  You are still young, and if you were not there is always room in life for a gift of God.  You may yet have what you are crying out for.  In the mean time—­”

Lucy interrupted with a wild cry.  “Oh, mother, you will take care of me, you will watch me!”

“You need not be afraid, Lucy,” said Mrs. Ayres, grimly and tenderly.  “I will watch you, and—­” She hesitated a moment, then she continued, “If I ever catch you buying that again—­”

But Lucy interrupted.

“Oh, mother,” she said, “this last time it was not—­it really was not—­that! It was only something that would have made her sick a little.  It would not have—­It was not that!”

“If I ever do catch you buying that again,” said Mrs. Ayres, “you will know what a whipping is.”  Her tone was almost whimsical, but it had a terrible emphasis.

Lucy shrank.  “I didn’t put enough of that in to—­to do much harm,” she murmured, “but I never will again.”

“No, you had better not,” assented Mrs. Ayres.  “Now slip on your wrapper and come down-stairs with me.  I am going to warm up some of that chicken on toast the way you like it, for supper, and then I am coming back up-stairs with you, and you are going to lie down, and I’ll read that interesting book we got out of the library.”

Lucy obeyed like a child.  Her mother helped her slip the wrapper over her head, and the two went down-stairs.

After supper that night Sidney Meeks called at the Whitmans’.  He did not stay long.  He had brought a bottle of elder-flower wine for Sylvia.  As he left he looked at Henry, who followed him out of the house into the street.  They paused just outside the gate.