Two carefully manicured hands put it there, after their owner had
satisfied herself that her mirror hadn't made a mistake, and that she
was looking quite her most attractive. You see, you'd promised to come
to see me this evening, and--well, I'm woman enough to be very
pleased. That's all."

Bill's sun-scorched face deepened its ruddy hue with youthful delight.

"Say, you did all this for--for me?"

Helen laughed.

"Why, yes, and told you the various details to be appreciated, because
I was scared to death you wouldn't get them right."

Bill sat himself down, and set the chair creaking as he turned it
about facing her. He held out his hands.

"I haven't seen the manicuring racket right, yet," he laughed.

Helen stretched out her two hands toward him for inspection. He
promptly seized them in his, and pretended to examine them.

"The prettiest, softest, jolliest----"

But the girl snatched them away.

"That's not inspection. That's----"

"Sure it's not," retorted Bill easily. "It's true."

"And absurd."

"What--the truth?"

Bill's blue eyes were widely inquiring.

"Sometimes."

The smile died out of the man's eyes, and his big face became doleful.

"Yes, I s'pose it is."

Helen set up.

"What's gone wrong--now? What truth is--absurd?" she demanded.

The man shrugged.

"Oh, everything. Say, have you ever heard of a disease of the--the
brain called 'partly hatched'?"

The girl's eyes twinkled.

"I don't kind of remember it."

"No, I don't s'pose you do. I don't think anybody ever has it but me.
I've got it bad. This valley's given it me, and--and if it isn't
careful it's going to get fatal."

Helen looked around at him in pretended sympathy.

"What's the symptoms? Nothing outward? I mean that tie--that's not a
symptom, is it?"

Bill shook his head. He was smiling, but beneath his smile there was a
certain seriousness.

"No. There's no outward signs--yet. I got it through thinking too--too
young. You see, I've done so much thinking in the last week. If it had
been spread over, say six months, the hatching might have got fixed
right. But it's been too quick, and things have got addled. You see,
if a hen turned on too much pressure of heat her eggs would get
fried--or addled. That's how my brain is. It's addled."

Helen nodded with a great show of seriousness which the twitching
corners of her pretty mouth belied.

"I always thought you'd got a trouble back of your--head. But you'd