above her; the wheels made their little crisping over the fine metal of
the driveway. She hastily paid the man and was at the side door that
opened into the sitting-room. As she put her hand to the knob she was
conscious of Clytie passing the window to open the door.

Then they were face to face over the threshold--Clytemnestra, of a
matronly circumference, yet with a certain prim consciousness of
herself, which despite the gray hair and the excellent maturity of her
face, was unmistakably maidenish--Clytie of the eyes always wise to
another's needs and beaming with that fine wisdom.

She started back from the doorway by way of being playfully
dramatic--her hands on her hips, her head to one side at an astounded
angle. Yet little more than a second did she let herself simulate this
welcoming incredulity--this stupefaction of cordiality. There must be
quick speech--especially as to Nancy's face--which seemed strangely
unfamiliar, set, suppressed, breathless, unaccountably young--and there
had to be the splendid announcement of another matter.

"Why, child, is it you or your ghost?"

Nancy could only nod her head.

"My suz! what ails the child?"

Here the other managed a shake of the head and a made smile.

"And of all things!--you'll never, never, never guess!--"

"There--there!--yes, yes--yes! I know--know all about it--knew it--knew