"What's the matter, mother?" asked Archie, who sat looking at her.
"Nothing, dear," she answered, rousing herself, and smiling wearily again. "I am a little tired, perhaps. It has been a hot day."
"Has it? I didn't notice. I never do--at least, not much. I say, mother, let's go home! I'm tired of Europe, and I know you are. Let's all go home together--we and the Wimpoles."
"We shall be going home soon," said Helen.
"I thought you meant to go to Carlsbad first. Wasn't it to Carlsbad we were going?"
"Yes, dear. But--here comes dinner--we will talk about it by and by."
They sat down to table. In hotels abroad Helen always dined in her rooms, for she was never quite sure of Archie. He seemed strangely unconscious of his own defect of mind, and was always ready to enter boldly into conversation with his neighbours at a foreign hotel dinner table. His childish ignorance had once or twice caused her such humiliation as she did not feel called upon to bear again.
"I don't know why we shouldn't talk about it now," began Archie, when he had eaten his soup in silence, and the servant was changing his plate.
"We shall be alone, after dinner," answered his mother.
"Oh, the waiter doesn't care! He'll never see us again, you know, so why shouldn't we say anything we like before him?"