WHEN PIPPA PASSED
could compare with Miss Delafield's words! You are an ungrateful little beast, West. A woman, like Pippa herself, is the best person to understand the matter."
"All right," the boy assented wearily, "only she isn't like Pippa, not a bit. Pippa's different."
Anne coloured deeply, and Delafield cursed the day he met the boy. His niece he did not pretend to understand.
The next afternoon, as he chafed in the stuffy dining-room-parlour of the flat that was Pippa's home, listening to the quarrelling of a half dozen children on the dreary little roof-garden below him as to who should swing in Uncle Joseph's hammock, he understood her less and less. What did she expect to gain from this visit? Was she satisfying her idea of duty or her curiosity? How much did she care, anyhow?
A steady murmur of voices came from a room behind the one he occupied. The afternoon wore on. He began to grow sleepy.
At last the door was flung open. Anne, looking pale and tired, entered the room, followed by a
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