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 regularities of his Oriental life, but was unprepared for an Occidental wife.

'No,' she smiled, a bland and terrible smile, 'it doesn't make me hate him.'

'Now that Elpsie hates him she feels so much better.'

'No.' Lanice heard a strange voice miles away saying through the darkness, 'no, it doesn't make me hate him.'

'Oh, my dear, you are so white! Do sit down; I'm afraid you are ill.'

'No, not ill.' She could not see the tumbler that Lydia pressed to her lips, but the water revived her. The mists rolled away and there was Lydia Scollay with her exquisite flushed face bending over her, tears beading her honey-colored lashes.

'I was in love once myself,' said Lydia abruptly. 'I know how you can suffer. It's terrible—but I hope I'll fall in love again sometime. If you don't you miss it and that's worse than being unhappy.'

'Far worse.'

'Sometime we'll go for a drive—you and I and Elpsie.'

'But your sister Elpsie...'

'A rival? Nonsense. He didn't care for Elpsie—not really.'

'Nor for any one really.'

Lydia smiled bewitchingly. 'You and Elpsie will have so much in common.' And then, fearing that her joke was in poor taste, kissed the sleek hair of her new friend.