is why--we--are--so--sleepy."

Over the rose-bush Miss Naylor peered down at her; and though she was
obliged to stand on tiptoe this did not altogether destroy her dignity.

"I am surprised at you, Greta; I am surprised at Christian, more
surprised at Christian. The world seems upside down."

Greta, a sunbeam entangled in her hair, regarded her with inscrutable,
innocent eyes.

"When you were a girl, I think you would be sure to be in love," she
murmured drowsily.

Miss Naylor, flushing deeply, snipped off a particularly healthy bud.

"And so, because you are not married, I think--"

The scissors hissed.

Greta nestled down again. "I think it is wicked to cut off all the good
buds," she said, and shut her eyes.

Miss Naylor continued to peer across the rosebush; but her thin face,
close to the glistening leaves, had become oddly soft, pink, and
girlish. At a deeper breath from Greta, the little lady put down her
basket, and began to pace the lawn, followed dubiously by Scruff. It was
thus that Christian came on them.

Miss Naylor slipped her arm into the girl's and though she made no
sound, her lips kept opening and shutting, like the beak of a bird
contemplating a worm.

Christian spoke first:

"Miss Naylor, I want to tell you please--"

"Oh, my dear! I know; Greta has been in the confessional before you."
She gave the girl's arm a squeeze. "Isn't it a lovely day? Did you ever
see 'Five Fingers' look so beautiful?" And she pointed to the great
peaks of the Funffingerspitze glittering in the sun like giant crystals.

"I like them better with clouds about them."

"Well," agreed Miss Naylor nervously, "they certainly are nicer with
clouds about them. They look almost hot and greasy, don't they.... My
dear!" she went on, giving Christian's arm a dozen little squeezes, "we
all of us--that is, we all of us--"

Christian turned her eyes away.

"My dear," Miss Naylor tried again, "I am far--that is, I mean, to all
of us at some time or another--and then you see--well--it is hard!"

Christian kissed the gloved hand resting on her arm. Miss Naylor bobbed
her head; a tear trickled off her nose.

"Do let us wind your skein of woof!" she said with resounding gaiety.

Some half-hour later Mrs. Decie called Christian to her room.

"My dear!" she said; "come here a minute; I have a message for you."

Christian went with an odd, set look about her mouth.

Her aunt was sitting, back to the light, tapping a bo