and, holding her at arm's
length, continued, "She said Father was like the end of her hair that's
fastened into her head, and Mother was the end that flaps in the wind,
and Mr. Marsh was like the Eagle Rock brook, swirly and hurrying the way
it is in the spring."

Elly, half crying, came to her mother. "Mother, it's nasty-horrid in
Paul to tell when I didn't want him to."

Marise began taking off the little girl's coat. "It wasn't very kind in
Paul, but there was nothing in those funny little fancies to hide,
dear."

"I didn't care about you and Father!" explained the child. "Only . . ."
She looked at Mr. Marsh from under downbent brows.

"Why, Elly, I am very much complimented, I'm sure," Marsh hastened to
tell her, "to be compared with such a remarkably nice thing as a brook
in spring-time. I didn't suppose any young lady would ever have such a
poetic idea about me."

"Oh . . ." breathed Elly, relieved, "well . . ."

"Do you suppose you little folks can get yourselves to bed without me?"
asked Marise. "If one of you big children will unbutton Mark in the
back, he can manage the rest. I must set a bread-sponge before I go
upstairs."

They clung to her imploringly. "But you'll be upstairs in time to kiss
us good-night in our beds," begged Elly and Mark together. Paul also
visibly hung on his mother's answer.

Marise looked down into their clear eyes and eager faces, reaching out
to her ardently, and she felt her heart melt. What darlings they were!
What inestimable treasures! How sweet to be loved like that!

She stooped over them and gathered them all into a great armful, kissing
them indiscriminately. "Yes, of course, I will . . . and give you an extra
kiss now!" she cried.

She felt Marsh's eyes on her, sardonically.

She straightened herself, saying with affectionate roughness, "There,
that's enough. Scamper along with you. And don't run around with bare
feet!"

She thought to herself that she supposed this was the sort of thing
Marsh meant when he spoke about hot-house enervating concentration. She
had been more stung by that remark of his than she had been willing to
acknowledge to Marsh or to herself.

But for the moment, any further reflection on it was cut short by the
aspect of Mr. Welles' face. He had sunk into a chair near the lamp, with
an attitude and an expression of such weariness, that Marise moved
quickly to him. "See here, Mr. Welles," she said impulsively, "you have
something on you