his
son.

"I fail to see anything particularly funny about it," remarked Ralph,
coldly.

"What did she say?" asked his father, not daring to meet Ralph's eyes.

"She thanked me, and said nothing could be done."

"She didn't show you her face, I take it."

"No."

"I should have thought she would, under the circumstances--under all
the circumstances."

"Have you seen her face?" asked Ralph, quickly, "by chance, or in any
other way?"

"Yes."

"How is it? Is it so bad that nothing can be done?"

"She was perfectly right," returned Anthony Dexter, slowly. "There is
nothing to be done."

At the moment, the phantom Evelina was pacing back and forth between
the man and his son. Her veiled face was proudly turned away. "I
wonder," thought Anthony Dexter, curiously, "if she hears. If she did,
though, she'd speak, or throw back her veil, so she doesn't hear."

"I may be wrong," sighed Ralph, "but I've always believed that nothing
is so bad it can't be made better."

"The unfailing ear-mark of Youth, my son," returned Anthony Dexter,
patronisingly. "You'll get over that."

He laughed again, gratingly, and went out, followed by his persistent
apparition. "We'll go out for a walk, Evelina," he muttered, when he
was half-way to the gate. "We'll see how far you can go without
getting tired." The fantastic notion of wearying his veiled pursuer
appealed to him strongly.

Ralph watched his father uneasily. Even though he had been relieved of
the greater part of his work, Anthony Dexter did not seem to be
improving. He was morose, unreasonable, and given to staring vacantly
into space for hours at a time. Ralph often spoke to him when he did
not hear at all, and at times he turned his head from left to right and
back again, slowly, but with the maddening regularity of clock-work.
He ate little, but claimed to sleep well.

Whatever it was seemed to be of the mind rather than the body, and
Ralph could find nothing in his father's circumstances calculated to
worry any one in the slightest degree. He planned, vaguely, to invite
a friend who was skilled in the diagnosis of obscure mental disorders
to spend a week-end with him, a little later on, and to ask him to
observe his father closely. He did not doubt but that Anthony Dexter
would see quickly through so flimsy a pretence, but, unless he
improved, something of the kind would have to be done soon.

Meanwhile, his heart yearned strangely toward Miss Eveli