now yet how gentle
and forbearing he is, how patient, how full of kindness to every living
soul, how unselfish, how--"

She lost her voice. "Oh, come now, mother," Dan protested huskily.

Alice did not say anything; she bent over, without repugnance, and
gathered the shadowy shape into her strong young arms, and kissed the
wasted face whose unearthly coolness was like the leaf of a flower
against her lips. "He never gave me a moment's trouble," said the
mother, "and I'm sure he'll make you happy. How kind of you not to be
afraid of me--"

"Afraid!" cried the girl, with passionate solemnity. "I shall never feel
safe away from you!"

The door opened upon the sound of voices, and the others came in.

Mrs. Pasmer did not wait for an introduction, but with an affectation
of impulse which she felt Mrs. Mavering would penetrate and respect, she
went up to the bed and presented herself. Dan's mother smiled hospitably
upon her, and they had some playful words about their children. Mrs.
Pasmer neatly conveyed the regrets of her husband, who had hoped up to
the last moment that the heavy cold he had taken would let him come with
her; and the invalid made her guest sit down on the right hand of her
bed, which seemed to be the place of honour, while her husband took
Dan's place on the left, and admired his wife's skill in fence. At the
end of her encounter with Mrs. Pasmer she called out with her strong
voice, "Why don't you get your banjo, Molly, and play something?"

"A banjo? Oh, do!" cried Mrs. Pasmer. "It's so picturesque and
interesting! I heard that young ladies had taken it up, and I should
so like to hear it!" She had turned to Mrs. Mavering again, and she now
beamed winningly upon her.

Alice regarded the girl with a puzzled frown as she brought her banjo in
from another room and sat down with it. She relaxed the severity of her
stare a little as Molly played one wild air after another, singing some
of them with an evidence of training in her naive effectiveness. There
were some Mexican songs which she had learned in a late visit to their
country, and some Creole melodies caught up in a winter's sojourn to
Louisiana. The elder sister accompanied her on the piano, not with
the hard, resolute proficiency which one might have expected of Eunice
Mavering, but with a sympathy which was perhaps the expression of her
share of the family kindliness.

"Your children seem to have been everywhere," said Mrs. Pasmer, with a