"Dear old Mats!--Don't take me so dreadfully seriously. It's all what I read in a magazine article to-night before the German, waiting for Robert to come. He thought he was displeased with me, and came very late, on purpose. You don't seem to like it?"
"I don't like to hear you talk so, Cally, even in fun," replied dear old Mats, rather stiffly. "You've been strange all evening, and you told me you didn't care whether you ever saw Mr. Canning again or not. It isn't a bit like you."
"It certainly isn't, as mamma frequently remarks," said Cally, her laugh dying. "Well, I'm going to be just like myself after this, never fear.... Gentlemen always welcome. We strive to please."
She put an arm over her friend's shoulder, and in this true-friendship attitude they strolled through the little entry and connecting bath to the spare-room at the back where Mattie always spent the night.
"I feel terribly sorry for poor Mr. Beirne," said Mattie, in a just voice. "You know he had a sinking-spell, and they were saying to-night he can't possibly get well."
"Yes, I know," said Carlisle, stifling a yawn. "By the way, I must leave cards there to-morrow. Remind me. Climb in, dear. I'll tuck you in."
"I haven't said my prayers," said Mattie, standing by the bed. "Cally, suppose he dies and leaves a lot of money to that cunning nephew of his! You know--Dr. Vivian--that I introduced to you that night at his house? They say Mr. Beirne's terribly fond of him."
Cally nodded in reply, her gaze entirely blank. It appeared that in this world there was escape neither from the nephew nor from the topic of him.
"But what do you suppose he'd do with it," queried Mattie, who was a dear romantic thing--"living off down there in the Dabney House? Somebody told me he didn't care at all for money, only think!"
"Perhaps he'd feel differently if he had any," said Cally. "Papa says coming into money's a sure cure for Socialism and everything of that sort."