.

"No, no," broke out the man impatiently. "Don't go fussin'. I don't want
much. Just get me anything you have handy."

Jane went to the pantry and returned with two thick slices of "war cake"
and a tumbler of creamy milk.

"This is the sort of cake you liked so much the other day," she said,
putting it upon the table. "It's somethin' amazin' how it keeps moist. I
s'pose it's the apple sauce in it."

She watched him while he broke it listlessly into fragments. It was
obvious that he was not hungry.

"You're tired, Martin," she murmured at last, in a gentle tone.

"I guess I am a little."

"The trip to the fair was a hard one, I'm afraid."

Again the man found comfort in her voice.

"Oh, no; not particularly hard," he answered with gruff kindness, "but the
train was close an' dusty."

There was a quality in the tone that caused Jane to ponder. Furtively she
studied the bowed head, the twitching fingers, the contracted brow; nor
did the jaded, disheartened droop of the mouth escape her. She could not
recall ever having seen Martin like this before.

Something must be weighing on his mind, something that had not been there
when he had left home in the morning and had not been there when he
returned. The shadow, whatever it was, had fallen since, and she felt it
had some connection with the happenings of the evening. This unprecedented
forbearance of his was a part of it. Of that she was sure. What did it
portend? Was he angry? Or had Lucy Webster dropped some remark that had
shown him the folly and uselessness of his resentment? Jane would have
given a great deal to know just what had occurred on that walk in the
rain. Perhaps Lucy had openly attacked Martin's codes and forced a
quarrel. She was fearless enough to do so; or perhaps she had simply
reproached him and set him thinking.

Well, it was useless to ask questions. Jane knew her brother too well to
presume to do this. If he had come to his senses, so much the better. It
was not to be expected that he would admit it. That was not his way. Any
change in his mental attitude would be quickly apparent, however, in his
actions, his deeds confessing the faults his lips were too proud to utter.
She must await developments.

Hence when he rose, she offered him her customary casual good night and
listened to his slow tread upon the stairs. That unelastic step only
served to further convince her that something recent and deep-acting had
taken hold on the man a