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“You know, his grandfather reads those horrid Ingersoll books. And Hugh had them all on a shelf in his bedroom.” Some that she had contradicted him. “His father was like that, you know. Couldn’t tolerate the least contradiction. If he only said, ‘It’s going to rain tomorrow,’ it put him in a fury if you said you thought it would be fair.”
    Then Hugh had told Joscelyn she was too proud—he wasn’t going to put up with it any longer. He had danced to her piping for three years but, by heck, the tune was going to be changed. Well, of course Joscelyn was proud. The clan admitted that. No woman could have carried such a wonderful crown of red-gold on her head without some pride to hold it up. But was that any excuse for a bridegroom setting wide open the door of his house and politely telling his bride to take her damned superior airs back where they belonged?
    The Darks would have none of these crazy yarns. It was not Hugh’s fault at all. Joscelyn had confessed she was a kleptomaniac. It ran in her family. A fourth cousin of her mother’s was terrible that way. Hugh had the welfare of generations unborn to think of. What else could he do?
    Darker hints obtained.
    After all, though these little yarns were circulated and giggled over, few really believed there was a grain of truth in them. Most of the clan felt sure that Joscelyn’s soft rose-red lips were fast shut on some far more terrible secret than a silly quarrel over cats or grammar. She had discovered something undoubtedly. But what was it?
    She had found a love letter some other woman had written him and gone mad with jealousy. After all, Joscelyn’s great-grandmother had been a Spanish girl from the West Indies. Spanish blood, you know. All the vagaries of Joscelyn’s branch of the Penhallows were attributed to the fact of that Spanish great-grandmother. Captain Alec Penhallow had married her. She died leaving him only one son—luckily. But that son had a family of eight. And they were all kittle cattle to handle. So intense in everything. Whatever they were, they were ten times more so than anyone else would be.
    No, it was worse than a letter. Joscelyn had discovered that Hugh had another wife. Those years out west. Hugh had never talked much about them. But at the last he broke down and confessed.
    Nothing of the sort. That child down at the harbor, though. It was certain some Dark was its father. Perhaps Hugh—
    Naturally, it made a dreadful scandal and sensation. The clan nearly died of it. It had been an old clan saying that nothing ever happened in Bay Silver. Rose River had a fire. Three Hills had an elopement. Even Indian Spring years ago had an actual murder. But nothing ever happened in Bay Silver. And now something had happened with a vengeance.
    That Joscelyn should behave like this! If it had been her rattle-brained sister Milly! They were always expecting Milly to do crazy things, so they were prepared to forgive her. But they had never thought of Joscelyn doing a crazy thing so they could not forgive her for amazing them. Not that it seemed to matter much to Joscelyn whether they forgave her or not. No entreaty availed to budge her an inch. “Her father was like that, you know,” Mrs. Clifford Penhallow wept. “He was noted for never changing his mind.”
    â€œJoscelyn evidently changed hers after she went up to Treewoofe that night,” somebody replied. “What happened, Mavis? Surely you, her mother, ought to know.”
    â€œHow can I know when she won’t tell me?” wailed Mrs. Clifford. “None of you have ever had any idea how stubborn Joscelyn really is. She simply says she will never go back to Hugh and not another word will she say. She won’t even wear her wedding-ring.” Mrs. Clifford thought this was really the worst thing in it all. “I never saw anyone so unnaturally obstinate.”
    â€œAnd what in the world are we to