en't we? Yes, he knows it. Didn't
you want him to know it, papa? You ought to have begun on the ship,
then. Of course I've asked him what sort of place it was. I'm sorry if
you didn't want me to."

"Have I said that? It's perfectly easy to push on to Paris. Unless--"

"Unless what?" Agatha dropped the pillow, and listened respectfully.
But in spite of her filial attitude she could not keep her youth and
strength and courage from quelling the forces of the elderly man.

He said querulously, "I don't see why you take that tone with me. You
certainly know what I mean. But if you don't care to deal openly with
me, I won't ask you." He dropped his eyes from her face, and at the same
time a deep blush began to tinge it, growing up from her neck to her
forehead. "You must know--you're not a child," he continued, still
with averted eyes, "that this sort of thing can't go on... It must be
something else, or it mustn't be anything at all. I don't ask you for
your confidence, and you know that I've never sought to control you."

This was not the least true, but Agatha answered, either absently or
provisionally, "No."

"And I don't seek to do so now. If you have nothing that you wish to
tell me--"

He waited, and after what seemed a long time, she asked as if she had
not heard him, "Will you lie down a little before your supper, papa?"

"I will lie down when I feel like it," he answered. "Send August with
the supper; he can look after me."

His resentful tone, even more than his words, dismissed her, but she
left him without apparent grievance, saying quietly, "I will send
August."

LXVII.

Agatha did not come down to supper with Burnamy. She asked August, when
she gave him her father's order, to have a cup of tea sent to her room,
where, when it came, she remained thinking so long that it was rather
tepid by the time she drank it.

Then she went to her window, and looked out, first above and next below.
Above, the moon was hanging over the gardened hollow before the Museum
with the airy lightness of an American moon. Below was Burnamy behind
the tubbed evergreens, sitting tilted in his chair against the house
wall, with the spark of his cigar fainting and flashing like an American
firefly. Agatha went down to the door, after a little delay, and seemed
surprised to find him there; at least she said, "Oh!" in a tone of
surprise.

Burnamy stood up, and answered, "Nice night."

"Beautiful!" she breathed. "I didn