The next evening Lucian came home to dinner.
"What an unexpected honor," said Martine. "I've never known you to favor us with a Monday visit. You look rather glum, too," she added with sisterly frankness. "Is anything the matter?"
"No, no," he said, "nothing special. You shouldn't be so curious."
"I can read you like a book," replied Martine. "You are worrying over your finals and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If I were a Harvard Sophomore, with all my time to use as I liked, I wouldn't be in such a state of mind over a few questions, for that's all an examination amounts to."
"There, there, Martine, don't worry your brother," interposed Mrs. Stratford, joining them.
"But he is so foolish," continued Martine, "just as if he hadn't as good a chance as anybody else."
"To be perfectly frank," said Lucian at last, "you have no idea, little sister, what you are talking about; so the least said, soonest mended."
Conversation during dinner proceeded cheerfully. Lucian was evidently making an effort to remove the impression that he was troubled about anything.
But a little later, after their mother had left the room, Lucian drew his chair nearer Martine's and began to talk in an undertone.
"You are right, Martine," he said, "I am troubled. I have something serious to say."