In that place."

"Doctor," Mrs. Meade hesitated, "what did it look like?"

"What are you saying, Mrs. Meade?"

"Her house. What did it look like? Are there cut-glass

chandeliers? And red plush curtains and dozens of full-length gilt

mirrors? And were the girls--were they unclothed?"

"Good God!" cried the doctor, thunderstruck, for it had never

occurred to him that the curiosity of a chaste woman concerning her

unchaste sisters was so devouring. "How can you ask such immodest

questions? You are not yourself. I will mix you a sedative."

"I don't want a sedative. I want to know. Oh, dear, this is my

only chance to know what a bad house looks like and now you are

mean enough not to tell me!"

"I noticed nothing. I assure you I was too embarrassed at finding

myself in such a place to take note of my surroundings," said the

doctor formally, more upset at this unsuspected revelation of his

wife's character than he had been by all the previous events of the

evening. "If you will excuse me now, I will try to get some

sleep."

"Well, go to sleep then," she answered, disappointment in her

tones. Then as the doctor leaned over to remove his boots, her

voice spoke from the darkness with renewed cheerfulness. "I

imagine Dolly has gotten it all out of old man Merriwether and she

can tell me about it."

"Good Heavens, Mrs. Meade! Do you mean to tell me that nice women

talk about such things among them--"

"Oh, go to bed," said Mrs. Meade.

It sleeted the next day, but as the wintry twilight drew on the icy

particles stopped falling and a cold wind blew. Wrapped in her

cloak, Melanie went bewilderedly down her front walk behind a

strange negro coachman who had summoned her mysteriously to a

closed carriage waiting in front of the house. As she came up to

the carriage the door was opened and she saw a woman in the dim

interior.

Leaning closer, peering inside, Melanie questioned: "Who is it?

Won't you come in the house? It's so cold--"

"Please come in here and set with me a minute, Miz Wilkes," came a

faintly familiar voice, an embarrassed voice from the depths of the

carriage.

"Oh, you're Miss--Mrs.--Watling!" cried Melanie. "I did so want to

see you! You must come in the house."

"I can't do that, Miz Wilkes." Belle Watling's voice sounded

scandalized. "You come in here and set a minute with me."

Melanie entered the carriage and the coachman closed the door

behind her. She sat down beside Belle and reached for her hand.

"How can I ever thank you enough for what you did today! How can

any of us thank you enough!"

"Miz Wilkes, you hadn't ought of sent me that note this mornin'.

Not that I wasn't proud to have a note from you but the Yankees

might of got it. And as for sayin' you was goin' to call on me to

thank me--why, Miz Wilkes, you must of lost your mind! The very

Idea! I come up here as soon as 'twas dark to tell you you mustn't

think of any sech thing. Why, I--why, you--it wouldn't be fittin'

at all."

"It wouldn't be fitting for me to call and thank a kind woman who

saved my husband's life?"

"Oh, shucks, Miz Wilkes! You know what I mean!"

Melanie was silent for a moment, embarrassed by the implication.

Somehow this handsome, sedately dressed woman sitting in the

darkness of the carriage didn't look and talk as she imagined a bad

woman, the Madam of a House, should look and talk. She sounded

like--well, a little common and countrified but nice and warm

hearted.

"You were wonderful before the provost marshal today, Mrs. Watling!

You and the other--your--the young ladies certainly saved our men's

lives."

"Mr. Wilkes was the wonderful one. I don't know how he even stood

up and told his story, much less look as cool as he done. He was

sure bleedin' like a pig when I seen him last night. Is he goin'

to be all right, Miz Wilkes?"

"Yes, thank you. The doctor says it's just a flesh wound, though

he did lose a tremendous lot of blood. This morning he was--well,

he was pretty well laced with brandy or he'd never have had the

strength to go through with it all so well. But it was you, Mrs.

Watling, who saved them. When you got mad and talked about the

broken mirrors you sounded so--so convincing."

"Thank you, Ma'm. But I--I thought Captain Butler done mighty fine

too," said Belle, shy pride in her voice.

"Oh, he was wonderful!" cried Melanie warmly. "The Yankees

couldn't help but believe his testimony. He was so smart about the

whole affair. I can never thank him enough--or you either! How

good and kind you are!"

"Thank you kindly, Miz Wilkes. It was a pleasure to do it. I--I

hope it ain't goin' to embarrass you none, me sayin' Mr. Wilkes

come regular to my place. He never, you know--"

"Yes, I know. No, it doesn't embarrass me at all. I'm just so

grateful to you."

"I'll bet the other ladies ain't grateful to me," said Belle with

sudden venom. "And I'll bet they ain't grateful to Captain Butler

neither. I'll bet they'll hate him just this much more. I'll bet

you'll be the only lady who even says thanks to me. I'll bet they

won't even look me in the eye when they see me on the street. But