"You really ought to try to believe that yourself, darling," said Pauline brightly.
Nona gave one of her father's shrugs. "Perhaps I will when I have more time."
"But one can always make time, dear." ("Just as I do," the smile suggested.) "You look thoroughly fagged out, Nona. I do wish you'd go to the wonderful new man I've just—"
"All right, mother. Only, this morning I haven't come to talk about myself. It's Lita."
"Lita?"
"I've been wanting to speak to you about her for a long time. Haven't you noticed anything?"
Pauline still wore her alert and sympathizing smile. "Tell me what, dear—let's talk it all over."
Nona's brows were drawn in a troubled frown. "I'm afraid Jim's not happy," she said.
"Jim? But, darling, he's been so dreadfully over-worked—that's the trouble. Your father spoke to me about it the other day. He's sending Jim and Arthur down to the island next month for a good long rest."
"Yes; it's awfully nice of father. But it's not that—it's Lita," Nona doggedly repeated.