CHAPTER XL

Valancy paused a moment on the porch of the brick house in Elm Street. She felt that she ought to knock like a stranger. Her rosebush, she idly noticed, was loaded with buds. The rubber-plant stood beside the prim door. A momentary horror overcame her—a horror of the existence to which she was returning. Then she opened the door and walked in. “I wonder if the Prodigal Son ever felt really at home again,” she thought. Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles were in the sitting-room. Uncle Benjamin was there, too. They l…