hen," Damaris persisted.

Whereupon poor Theresa lost herself, the worthy and unworthy elements in
her nature alike conspiring to her undoing. In her distraction she
sniffed audibly. A tear ran down either side of her pink shiny nose and
dropped on the folds of shepherd's-plaid silk veiling her plump bosom.
For, with some obscure purpose of living up to her self-imposed
indispensability, Miss Bilson was distinctly dressy at this period,
wearing her best summer gown on every possible occasion and tucking a
bunch of roses or carnations archly in her waist-belt.

"Do you think it kind to insist so much on my passing forgetfulness?" she
quavered. "The habit of criticizing and cavilling at whatever I say grows
on you, Damaris, and it so increases the difficulties of my position. I
know I am sensitive, but that is the result of my affection for you. I
care so deeply, and you are not responsive. You chill me. As I have told
dear Miss Felicia--for I must sometimes unburden myself"--

This hastily, as Damaris' eyes darkened with displeasure.

--"For the last year, ever since you have nominally been out of the
schoolroom, I have seen my influence over you lessen, and especially
since poor Mrs. Watson's death"--

"We will not talk about Nannie, please," Damaris said quietly.

"Yes, but--as I told your Aunt Felicia--since then I have tried more than
ever to win your entire confidence, to make up to you for the loss of
poor Watson and fill her place with you."

"No one else can ever fill the place of the person one has loved,"
Damaris returned indignantly. "It isn't possible. I should be ashamed to
let it be possible. Nannie was Nannie--she had cared for me all my life
and I had cared for her. She belongs to things about which you"--

And there the girl checked herself, aware of something almost ludicrously
pitiful in the smug tearful countenance and stumpy would-be fashionable
figure. Hit a man your own size, or bigger, by all means if you are game
to take the consequences. But to smite a creature conspicuously your
inferior in fortune--past, present, and prospective--is unchivalrous, not
to say downright mean-spirited. So Damaris, swiftly repentant, put her
arm round the heaving shoulders, bent her handsome young head and kissed
the uninvitingly dabby cheek--a caress surely counting to her for
righteousness.

"Don't find fault with me any more, Billy," she said. "Indeed I never
hurt you on purpose. But there are such load