Williams news., 1917-09-27

English newspapers, and knew a vast deal more about Craven than that man would have cared to credit-who, when all's said, wasn't lightly to be termed a man of retiring disposition. Thus the discovery that he had a daughter (and why not a wife living, as wellO was one tremendously titil- lating; for trade in gossip about nota- bilities goes on as briskly between decks on fashionable Atlantic steam ships as below stairs in fashionable homes on either side of the water.
 But Craven's daughter, forgetful of the serving woman, sat with eyes se- rene in a face radiant with the glow ef happiness in her heart. Never a doubt troubled her ardent anticipa- tons. That ominous note which had been sounded in the brief conversation outside her window was now forgot ten-at worst could not have shaken her faith in his loving kindness. That was something always to be counted upon. something that had never failed her. And if his attitude of late might have seemed inconsistent with truly sympathetic affection, Lydia knew better: her father had not so much opposed her wishes as he had underestimated the sincerity of her mutiny against the rule of Agnes Hicks Lorrimer.
 How could 1t be otherwise, with a gap of five long years in their associa- tion, five years of separation, change and growth?
 His thought aroused appreciation of the great changes time had wrought: so great that 1t wasn't difficult to fancy Craven failing to recognize his daugh- ter, whose memory with him must be that of hobbledehoy of fifteen, long, legged and awkward, with perpetually freckled snub nose, mouth too wide, and eyes too large for her thin face, and her hair in plaits-two wrist-thick cables of 1t falling below her waist, carroty red, and bound with broad but terfiy bows of stiff blue ribbon.
 Mrs. Hicks-Lorrimer's idea, that of the butterfly bows-the final touch of ignominy! Lydia dated her hatred of the woman from the hour when she had been compelled to submit to those unspeakable decorations.
 But today-Lydia smiled tenderly. No; Craven wouldn't know his girl not until she told him-unless, to be sure, she had grown somewhat to re semble her mother, who had been fa- nous beauty-or so Mrs. Grummle of the Bloomsbury lodgings had asser- vated-and so Craven himself, under pressure of persistent questioning, had once admitted.
 Winant, rising from her knees, dis pelled reverie. 'Is that all, Miss Cra- venY
 Lydia smiled brilliantly. That's right" she affirmed with decision. Let me be Miss Craven from now on. Do you think you could find my father for me, Winant?"
 "Oh. surely, miss." Winant preserved straight face. "Would you wish me to send i'm to you 'ere?"
 "Oh, no. I merely want to know where to look for him. But to send him here to find me-why-don't you see?-that would spoil it allw
 Quite so, miss. won't be a min- ute."
 To Lydia, waiting with eyes shin- ing and lips tremulous with anticipa- tion, entered unexpectedly her Dowager Dragon; and entering, for the first and only time in their association betrayed no signs of some slight embarrassment and bewildermenr.
 Heaven help our homew Mrs. Beg garstaff cried, thunderstruck. "Where are you going, child?"
 "On deck, probably" Lydia informed her with twinkle of mischief.
 "But-my blessed income"
 Dear Mrs. Beggarstaff," Lydia in- terposed impulsively,' q must tell you, something has appened-something so wonderful and delightful that I verify believe it would have got me out of bed had been at the point of death!''
 "POhP' exclaimed the Dowager Dragon impatiently. Surprise faded in her eyes, and was replaced by some thing strangely like disappointment. With quick movement she closed the door and sat down on her bed. "Non- sense!" she added with unaccountable irritation, looking the excited young woman up and down. My dear, you're