"Suppose," she propounded evenly, "that it was Uncle Alfred?"
I looked at her earnestly.
"You don't know that he was here," was my sober comment.
"No."
"Well, then, what's the use of borrowing trouble?"
"It's very silly—especially as I have trouble enough as it is."
With an impulsive movement, she thrust one little gloved hand into mine.
"I am still your assistant," she affirmed, striving hard to be gay, "if you will have me now. Together we will drive the trouble away."
I caught the other hand, and held the two of them together. She permitted the caress for a moment—for caress it was—then drew her hands away.
"Good-bye," she said faintly, without looking up.