good conscience in the negative. It
occurred to him to add, with jocose intent: "I am curious to know,
do these fits, as you call them, occupy a prominent part in Grecian
philosophy as a general rule?"

Celia gave a little snort, which might have signified amusement, but did
not speak until they were upon her own sidewalk. "There is my brother,
waiting at the gate," she said then, briefly.

"Well, then, I will bid you good-night here, I think," Theron remarked,
coming to a halt, and offering his hand. "It must be getting very
late, and my--that is--I have to be up particularly early tomorrow. So
good-night; I hope you will be feeling ever so much better in spirits in
the morning."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," replied the girl, listlessly. "It's a very
paltry little affair, this life of ours, at the best of it. Luckily it's
soon done with--like a bad dream."

"Tut! Tut! I won't have you talk like that!" interrupted Theron, with a
swift and smart assumption of authority. "Such talk isn't sensible, and
it isn't good. I have no patience with it!"

"Well, try and have a little patience with ME, anyway, just for
tonight," said Celia, taking the reproof with gentlest humility, rather
to her censor's surprise. "I really am unhappy tonight, Mr. Ware, very
unhappy. It seems as if all at once the world had swelled out in size
a thousandfold, and that poor me had dwindled down to the merest wee
little red-headed atom--the most helpless and forlorn and lonesome of
atoms at that." She seemed to force a sorrowful smile on her face as she
added: "But all the same it has done me good to be with you--I am sure
it has--and I daresay that by tomorrow I shall be quite out of the
blues. Good-night, Mr. Ware. Forgive my making such an exhibition of
myself I WAS going to be such a fine early Greek, you know, and I have
turned out only a late Milesian--quite of the decadence. I shall do
better next time. And good-night again, and ever so many thanks."

She was walking briskly away toward the gate now, where the shadowy
Michael still patiently stood. Theron strode off in the opposite
direction, taking long, deliberate steps, and bowing his head in
thought. He had his hands behind his back, as was his wont, and the
sense of their recent contact with her firm, ungloved hands was,
curiously enough, the thing which pushed itself uppermost in his mind.
There had been a frank, almost manly vigor in her grasp; he said
to himself that of course t