with me—but she is such a dear child! You won't tell her, will you?"
"No," he said, and again applied the handkerchief to his forehead for an instant. "No, I'll———"
He paused, and finished lamely: "I'll—not tell her."
Thus reassured, Mrs. Adams set before him some details of her daughter's popularity at sixteen, dwelling upon Alice's impartiality among her young suitors: "She never could bear to hurt their feelings, and always treated all of them just alike. About half a dozen of them were just bound to marry her! Naturally, her father and I considered any such idea ridiculous; she was too young, of course."
Thus the mother went on with her biographical sketches, while the pale young man sat facing her under the hard overhead light of a white globe, set to the ceiling; and listened without interrupting. She was glad to have the chance to tell him a few things about Alice he might not have guessed for himself, and, indeed, she had planned to find such an opportunity, if she could; but this was getting to be altogether too much of one, she felt. As time passed, she was like an actor who must improvise to keep the audience from perceiving that his fellow-players have
