she laughed aloud.

"Good gracious!" she cried. "I hadn't realized it was THAT bad!"

For this, though he contrived to laugh, he seemed to have no verbal
retort whatever; but followed her into the "living-room," where she
stopped and turned, facing him.

"Has it really been so frightful?" she asked.

"Why, of course not. Not at all."

"Of course yes, though, you mean!"

"Not at all. It's been most kind of your mother and father and you."

"Do you know," she said, "you've never once looked at me for more than a
second at a time the whole evening? And it seemed to me I looked rather
nice to-night, too!"

"You always do," he murmured.

"I don't see how you know," she returned; and then stepping closer
to him, spoke with gentle solicitude: "Tell me: you're really feeling
wretchedly, aren't you? I know you've got a fearful headache, or
something. Tell me!"

"Not at all."

"You are ill--I'm sure of it."

"Not at all."

"On your word?"

"I'm really quite all right."

"But if you are----" she began; and then, looking at him with a
desperate sweetness, as if this were her last resource to rouse him,
"What's the matter, little boy?" she said with lisping tenderness. "Tell
auntie!"

It was a mistake, for he seemed to flinch, and to lean backward,
however, slightly. She turned away instantly, with a flippant lift and
drop of both hands. "Oh, my dear!" she laughed. "I won't eat you!"

And as the discomfited young man watched her, seeming able to lift
his eyes, now that her back was turned, she went to the front door and
pushed open the screen. "Let's go out on the porch," she said. "Where we
belong!"

Then, when he had followed her out, and they were seated, "Isn't this
better?" she asked. "Don't you feel more like yourself out here?"

He began a murmur: "Not at----"

But she cut him off sharply: "Please don't say 'Not at all' again!"

"I'm sorry."

"You do seem sorry about something," she said. "What is it? Isn't it
time you were telling me what's the matter?"

"Nothing. Indeed nothing's the matter. Of course one IS rather affected
by such weather as this. It may make one a little quieter than usual, of
course."

She sighed, and let the tired muscles of her face rest. Under the hard
lights, indoors, they had served her until they ached, and it was a
luxury to feel that in the darkness no grimacings need call upon them.

"Of course, if you won't tell me----" she said.

"I can only assure you ther