s disturbing to Mr. Blakely, upon whose
person it was glassily fixed with a self-forgetfulness that was almost
morbid.

"Didn't you enjoy the last meeting of the Cotillion Club?" Margaret said
finally.

And upon Mr. Blakely's answering absently in the affirmative, she
suddenly began to be talkative. He seemed to catch a meaning in her
fluency, and followed her lead, a conversation ensuing which at first
had all the outward signs of eagerness. They talked with warm interest
of people and events unknown to Penrod; they laughed enthusiastically
about things beyond his ken; they appeared to have arranged a perfect
way to enjoy themselves, no matter whether he was with them or elsewhere
but presently their briskness began to slacken; the appearance of
interest became perfunctory. Within ten minutes the few last scattering
semblances of gayety had passed, and they lapsed into the longest and
most profound of all their silences indoors that day. Its effect upon
Penrod was to make him yawn and settle himself in his chair.

Then Mr. Blakely, coming to the surface out of deep inward communings,
snapped his finger against the palm of his hand impulsively.

"By George!" he exclaimed, under his breath.

"What is it?" Margaret asked. "Did you remember something?"

"No, it's nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. But, by the way, it seems
a pity for you to be missing the fine weather. I wonder if I could
persuade you to take a little walk?"

Margaret, somewhat to the surprise of both the gentlemen present, looked
uncertain.

"I don't know," she said.

Mr. Blakely saw that she missed his point.

"One can talk better in the open, don't you think?" he urged, with a
significant glance toward Penrod.

Margaret also glanced keenly at Penrod. "Well, perhaps." And then, "I'll
get my hat," she said.

Penrod was on his feet before she left the room. He stretched himself.

"I'll get mine, too," he said.

But he carefully went to find it in a direction different from that
taken by his sister, and he joined her and her escort not till they were
at the front door, whither Mr. Blakely--with a last flickering of hope
had urged a flight in haste.

"I been thinkin' of takin' a walk, all afternoon," said Penrod
pompously. "Don't matter to me which way we go."

The exquisite oval of Mr. Claude Blakely's face merged into outlines
more rugged than usual; the conformation of his jaw became perceptible,
and it could be seen that he had conc