“Didn't you say she wore that at the Pattersons'?” Mrs. Adams inquired, as Alice arrived at the top of the stairs. “And didn't you tell me she wore it again at the——”
“Certainly not,” Alice interrupted, rather petulantly. “She's never worn it but once, and of course she wouldn't want to wear anything to-night that people have seen her in a lot.”
Miss Perry opened the door of Adams's room and stepped out. “Your father wants to know if you'll come and see him a minute, Miss Adams.”
“Poor old thing! Of course!” Alice exclaimed, and went quickly into the room, Miss Perry remaining outside. “What's the matter, papa? Getting awful sick of lying on his tired old back, I expect.”
“I've had kind of a poor morning,” Adams said, as she patted his hand comfortingly. “I been thinking——”
“Didn't I tell you not to?” she cried, gaily. “Of course you'll have poor times when you go and do just exactly what I say you mustn't. You stop thinking this very minute!”
He smiled ruefully, closing his eyes; was silent for a moment, then asked her to sit beside the bed. “I been thinking of something I wanted to say,” he added.
“What like, papa?”
“Well, it's nothing—much,” he said, with something deprecatory in his tone, as if he felt vague impulses toward both humour and apology. “I just thought maybe I ought to've said more to you some time or other about—well, about the way things ARE, down at Lamb and Company's, for instance.”
“Now, papa!” She leaned forward in the chair she had taken, and pretended to slap his hand crossly. “Isn't that exactly what I said you couldn't think one single think about till you get ALL well?”