it; and you _did_ do it beautifully. It was magnificent--perhaps _too_
magnificent." She began to laugh and to kiss away the vexation from her
father's face, keeping her hands behind her with her shoes she had
picked up again, in them, as she came and leaned over him, where he sat.

"And did I want you to stay and entertain him here till I came in?" he
demanded, to keep from being mollified too soon.

"No," she faltered. "_That_ was a work of necessity. He looked so sick
and sad, that he appealed to my sympathy, and besides--Do you think I
could trust you with a secret, papa?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Why, you see I thought he was a walking-delegate at first."

"And was that the reason you stayed?"

"No. That was what frightened me, and then interested me. I wanted to
find out what they were like. But that isn't the secret."

"It's probably quite as important," Hilary growled.

"Well, you see it's such a good lesson to me! I had slipped off my shoes
when I was lying down, and I couldn't get away, he came in so suddenly."

"And do you mean to tell me, Louise, that you were talking to that
reporter all the time in--"

"How should he know it? You didn't know it yourself, papa. I couldn't
get my shoes on after he came, of course!" She brought them round before
her in evidence.

"Well, it's scandalous, Louise, simply scandalous! I never come in after
you've been here without finding some part of your gear lying
round--hair-pins, or gloves, or ribbons, or belts, or handkerchiefs, or
something--and I won't have it. I want you to understand that I think
it's disgraceful. I'm ashamed of you."

"Oh, no! Not _ashamed_, papa!"

"Yes, I am!" said her father; but he had to relent under her look of
meek imploring, and say, "or I ought to be. I don't see how you could
hold up your head."

"I held it very _high_ up. When you haven't got your shoes on--in
company--it gives you a sort of--internal majesty; and I behaved very
loftily. But it's been a fearful lesson to me, papa!" She made her
father laugh, and then she flung herself upon him, and kissed him for
his amiability.

She said at the end of this rite, "He didn't seem much impressed even
after you had apologized, do you think, papa?"

"No, he didn't," Hilary grumbled. "He's as stiff-necked as need be."

"Yes," said Louise, thoughtfully. "He must be proud. How funny proud
people are, papa! I can't understand them. That was what always
fascinated me wit