and father were passing what Mabelle called "a second honeymoon." After a moment a head appeared at the window, and his mother's voice asked, "Who's there? For God's sake, what's the matter?"
"It's Philip . . . let me in!"
She opened the door to him in her outing-flannel gown and a flowered wrapper which he had never seen her wear before. It was, he supposed, a best wrapper which she had kept against the homecoming she had—awaited for years. Her head was covered coquettishly by a pink boudoir cap trimmed with lace. As he closed the door behind him, she said, "For God's sake, Philip. What's the matter? Have you gone crazy?"
He smiled at her, but it was a horrible smile, twisted and bitter, and born of old memories come alive, and of a disgust at the sight of the flowered wrapper and the coquettish lace cap. "No, I'm not crazy this time—though I've a right to be. It's about Naomi . . . she's run away. . . ."
"What do you mean?"
"And she hasn't gone alone. She's run away with the Reverend Castor."
"Philip! You are crazy. It's not true!"
"I'm telling you the truth. I know."
She sat down suddenly on the stairs, holding to the rail for support. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What have I done to deserve such a thing? When will Godbring me to the end of my trials?"
He made no move to comfort her. He simply stood watching, until presently she asked, "How do you know? There must be a mistake . . . it's not true."
Then he told her bit by bit the whole story, coldly and with an odd, cruel satisfaction, so that no doubt
