sse's."

She looked at me for an instant and there was gratitude in her
expression.

"Alathea, I want you to forget all about the troubles which must have
clouded your life. They are all over now, and some day, perhaps you will
introduce me to your mother and little sister."

"I will, of course when they come back from the South. My mother has
often been so ill."

"I want you to feel that I would do anything for them. Are you sure they
have all they want?"

She protested.

"Indeed--yes, far more. You have given too much already."

She raised her head with that indescribable little gesture of hauteur,
which becomes her so beautifully. I could read her mind. It said, "I
loathe receiving anything from him, with that woman in the background!"

When we went into the salon I wondered what she would do. I did not
speak. She took my crutch and shook up my cushion, taking great care not
to touch me. I could not look up. I knew that a powerful electric
current would pass from my eye to hers, if I did, and that she would see
that I was only longing to take her to my heart.

I remained silent and gazed into the fire. She sat down quietly on the
sofa at the side, so that I would have to turn my head to look at her.
Thus we remained for quite five minutes, speechless. The air throbbed
with emotion. I dared not move.

At last she said, "Would you care that I should read to you again, or
play?"

"Play for a little." My voice was chilly. I was quite determined the
iciness should come from me first, not her, for a few days.

She went to the piano, and she began the Debussy she had played that
afternoon when I had first asked her to play--I never can remember its
name--and when she had finished she stopped.

"What made you play that now?" I asked.

"I felt like it."

"It wrenches my nerves. What makes you feel all unrestful and rebellious
and defiant, Alathea, am I not keeping the bargain?"

"Yes, of course."

"You are bored to death then?"

"No, I am wondering."

"Wondering what?"

She did not answer. I could not see her without getting up out of my
chair.

"Please come here," I asked in an indifferent cold voice. "You know it
is so difficult for me to move."

She came back and sat down upon the sofa again. The light of the apricot
lamp fell softly on her hair.

"Now tell me about what you were wondering."

Her mouth grew stubborn and she did not speak.

"It is so unlike you to do these very female thin