in her voice.

"I don't believe I could see to read in here.... Are you--going?"

"I--ought to." Vexed at the feeble senselessness of her reply she found
herself walking down the landing, toward nowhere in particular. She
turned abruptly and came back.

"Do you want a book?" she repeated.

"Oh, I forgot that you can't see to read. But perhaps you might care to
smoke."

"Are you going away?"

"I--don't mind your smoking."

He lighted a cigarette; she looked at him irresolutely.

"You mustn't think of remaining," he said. Whereupon she seated herself.

"I suppose I ought to try to amuse you--till Ferdinand returns with a
plumber," she said.

He protested: "I couldn't think of asking so much from you."

"Anyway, it's my duty," she insisted. "I ought."

"Why?"

"Because you are under my roof--a guest."

"Please don't think----"

"But I really don't mind! If there is anything I can do to make your
imprisonment easier----"

"It is easy. I rather like being here."

"It is very amiable of you to say so."

"I really mean it."

"How can you _really_ mean it?"

"I don't know, but I do." In their earnestness they had come close to the
bars; she stood with both hands resting on the grille, looking in; he in
a similar position, looking out.

He said: "I feel like an occupant of the Bronx, and it rather astonishes
me that you haven't thrown me in a few peanuts."

She laughed, fetched her box of chocolates, then began seriously: "If
Ferdinand doesn't find anybody I'm afraid you might be obliged to remain
to dinner."

"That prospect," he said, "is not unpleasant. You know when one becomes
accustomed to one's cage it's rather a bore to be let out."

They sampled the chocolates, she sitting close to the cage, and as the
box would not go through the bars she was obliged to hand them to him,
one by one.

"I wonder," she mused, "how soon Ferdinand will find a plumber?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

She bent her adorable head, chose a chocolate and offered it to him.

[Illustration: "Are you not terribly impatient?" she inquired]

"Are you not terribly impatient?" she inquired.

"Not--terribly."

Their glances encountered and she said hurriedly:

"I am sure you must be perfectly furious with everybody in this house.
I--I think it is most amiable of you to behave so cheerfully about it."

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I'm feeling about as cheerful as I ever
felt in my life."

"Cooped up in a cag