, gratefully. "But I
think we had better see them, too. I think we had better ALL see them."

"Just as you please, Ellen. If you prefer to meet them alone--"

"I don't prefer that. I want poppa to be there, and Lottie and Boyne
even."

Boyne objected when he was told that his presence was requested at this
family rite, and he would have excused himself if the invitation had
been of the form that one might decline. "What do I want to see him
for?" he puffed. "He never cared anything about me in Tuskingum. What's
he want here, anyway?"

"I wish you to come in, my son," said his mother, and that ended it.

Lottie was not so tractable. "Very well, momma," she said. "But don't
expect me to speak to him. I have some little self-respect, if the rest
of you haven't. Am I going to shake hands with him! I never took the
least notice of him at home, and I'm not going to here."

Bittridge decided the question of hand-shaking for her when they met.
He greeted her glooming brother with a jolly "Hello, Boyne!" and without
waiting for the boy's tardy response he said "Hello, Lottie!" to the
girl, and took her hand and kept it in his while he made an elaborate
compliment to her good looks and her gain in weight. She had come
tardily as a proof that she would not have come in at all if she had not
chosen to do so, and Mrs. Bittridge was already seated beside Ellen on
the sofa, holding her hand, and trying to keep her mobile, inattentive
eyes upon Ellen's face. She was a little woman, youthfully dressed,
but not dressed youthfully enough for the dry, yellow hair which curled
tightly in small rings on her skull, like the wig of a rag-doll. Her
restless eyes were round and deep-set, with the lids flung up out of
sight; she had a lax, formless mouth, and an anxious smile, with which
she constantly watched her son for his initiative, while she recollected
herself from time to time, long enough to smooth Ellen's hand between
her own, and say, "Oh, I just think the world of Clarence; and I guess
he thinks his mother is about right, too," and then did not heed what
Ellen answered.

The girl said very little, and it was Bittridge who talked for all,
dominating the room with a large, satisfied presence, in which the judge
sat withdrawn, his forehead supported on his hand, and his elbow on the
table. Mrs. Kenton held herself upright, with her hands crossed before
her, stealing a look now and then at her daughter's averted face, but
keeping