e's nothing to tell."

"I know what an ugly little house it is," she said. "Maybe it was the
furniture--or mama's vases that upset you. Or was it mama herself--or
papa?"

"Nothing 'upset' me."

At that she uttered a monosyllable of doubting laughter. "I wonder why
you say that."

"Because it's so."

"No. It's because you're too kind, or too conscientious, or too
embarrassed--anyhow too something--to tell me." She leaned forward,
elbows on knees and chin in hands, in the reflective attitude she knew
how to make graceful. "I have a feeling that you're not going to tell
me," she said, slowly. "Yes--even that you're never going to tell me. I
wonder--I wonder----"

"Yes? What do you wonder?"

"I was just thinking--I wonder if they haven't done it, after all."

"I don't understand."

"I wonder," she went on, still slowly, and in a voice of reflection, "I
wonder who HAS been talking about me to you, after all? Isn't that it?"

"Not at----" he began, but checked himself and substituted another form
of denial. "Nothing is 'it.'"

"Are you sure?"

"Why, yes."

"How curious!" she said.

"Why?"

"Because all evening you've been so utterly different."

"But in this weather----"

"No. That wouldn't make you afraid to look at me all evening!"

"But I did look at you. Often."

"No. Not really a LOOK."

"But I'm looking at you now."

"Yes--in the dark!" she said. "No--the weather might make you even
quieter than usual, but it wouldn't strike you so nearly dumb. No--and
it wouldn't make you seem to be under such a strain--as if you thought
only of escape!"

"But I haven't----"

"You shouldn't," she interrupted, gently. "There's nothing you have to
escape from, you know. You aren't committed to--to this friendship."

"I'm sorry you think----" he began, but did not complete the fragment.

She took it up. "You're sorry I think you're so different, you mean to
say, don't you? Never mind: that's what you did mean to say, but you
couldn't finish it because you're not good at deceiving."

"Oh, no," he protested, feebly. "I'm not deceiving. I'm----"

"Never mind," she said again. "You're sorry I think you're so
different--and all in one day--since last night. Yes, your voice SOUNDS
sorry, too. It sounds sorrier than it would just because of my thinking
something you could change my mind about in a minute so it means you're
sorry you ARE different."

"No--I----"

But disregarding the faint denial, "Never m