hard by with a needle in her fingers, certain
morsels of silk and ribbon in her lap, several pins in her mouth, and
her attention turning constantly from her work to her sister's face. The
weather was now so completely vernal that Mr. Dosson was able to haunt
the court, and he had lately resumed this practice, in which he was
presumably at the present moment absorbed. Delia had lowered her needle
and was making sure if her companion were awake--she had been perfectly
still for so long--when her glance was drawn to the door, which she
heard pushed open. Mr. Flack stood there, looking from one to the other
of the young ladies as to see which would be most agreeably surprised by
his visit.

"I saw your father downstairs--he says it's all right," said the
journalist, advancing with a brave grin. "He told me to come straight
up--I had quite a talk with him."

"All right--ALL RIGHT?" Delia Dosson repeated, springing up. "Yes
indeed--I should say so!" Then she checked herself, asking in another
manner: "Is that so? poppa sent you up?" And then in still another:
"Well, have you had a good time at Nice?"

"You'd better all come right down and see. It's lovely down there. If
you'll come down I'll go right back. I guess you want a change," Mr.
Flack went on. He spoke to Delia but he looked at Francie, who showed
she had not been asleep by the quick consciousness with which she raised
herself on her sofa. She gazed at the visitor with parted lips,
but uttered no word. He barely faltered, coming toward her with his
conscious grimace and his hand out. His knowing eyes were more knowing
than ever, but had an odd appearance of being smaller, like penetrating
points. "Your father has told me all about it. Did you ever hear of
anything so cheap?"

"All about what?--all about what?" said Delia, whose attempt to
represent happy ignorance was menaced by an intromission of ferocity.
She might succeed in appearing ignorant, but could scarcely succeed in
appearing kind. Francie had risen to her feet and had suffered Mr. Flack
to possess himself for a moment of her hand, but neither of them had
asked the young man to sit down. "I thought you were going to stay a
month at Nice?" Delia continued.

"Well, I was, but your father's letter started me up."

"Father's letter?"

"He wrote me about the row--didn't you know it? Then I broke. You didn't
suppose I was going to stay down there when there were such times up
here."

"Gracious!" Del