"Perhaps it is his voice, though it has seemed better of late."
"I think not," said Ruth, slowly, as she bent her head in a listening attitude, for a step was coming along the hallway in the Fenmore Apartment, where the DeVere girls and their father had their rather limited quarters.
"That isn't he," said Ruth, with a little sigh of disappointment. "I thought at first it was. No, I don't mean that it was his voice, Alice. That really seems better since he so suddenly became hoarse, and had to take up moving picture work instead of the legitimate drama he loves so much. It is some other trouble, Alice."
"I hadn't noticed it, I confess. But I suppose you'll say that I'm so flighty I never notice anything."
"I never called you flighty, dear. You are of a lively disposition, that's all."
"And you are a wee bit too much the other way, sister mine!" And then, to take any sting out of the words, Alice rose from her chair with a bound, crossed the room in a rush, and flung her arms about her sister, embracing her heartily and kissing her.
"Oh, Alice!" protested the other. "You are crushing me!"
"I'm a regular bear, I suppose. Hark, is that daddy?"
They both listened, but the footsteps died away as before.
"Why are you so anxious?"