d together, and Louise's laugh made itself heard farther
off. "She is a light nature," sighed Mrs. Hilary.

"Yes," Matt admitted, thinking he would rather like to be of a light
nature himself at that moment. "But I don't know that there is anything
wrong in it. It would do no good if she took the matter heavily."

"Oh, I don't mean the Northwicks entirely," said Mrs. Hilary. "But she
is so in regard to everything. I know she is a good child, but I'm
afraid she doesn't feel things deeply. Matt, I don't believe I like this
protege of yours."

"Maxwell?"

"Yes. He's too intense."

"Aren't you a little difficult, mother?" Matt asked. "You don't like
Louise's lightness, and you don't like Maxwell's intensity. I think
he'll get over that. He's sick, poor fellow; he won't be so intense when
he gets better."

"Oh, yes; very likely." Mrs. Hilary paused, and then she added,
abruptly, "I hope Louise's sympathies will be concentrated on Sue
Northwick for awhile, now."'

"I thought they were that, already," said Matt. "I'm sure Louise has
shown herself anxious to be her friend ever since her troubles began. I
hadn't supposed she was so attached to her--so constant--"

"She's romantic; but she's worldly; she likes the world and its ways.
There never was a girl who liked better the pleasure, the interest of
the moment. I don't say she's fickle; but one thing drives another out
of her mind. She likes to live in a dream; she likes to make-believe.
Just now she's all taken up with an idyllic notion of country life,
because she's here in June, with that sick young reporter to patronize.
But she's the creature of her surroundings, and as soon as she gets away
she'll be a different person altogether. She's a strange contradiction!"
Mrs. Hilary sighed. "If she would only be _entirely_ worldly, it
wouldn't be so difficult; but when her mixture of unworldliness comes
in, it's quite distracting." She waited a moment as if to let Matt ask
her what she meant; but he did not, and she went on: "She's certainly
not a simple character--like Sue Northwick, for instance."

Matt now roused himself. "Is _she_ a simple character?" he asked, with a
show of indifference.

"Perfectly," said his mother. "She always acts from pride. That explains
everything she does."

"I know she is proud," Matt admitted, finding a certain comfort in
openly recognizing traits in Sue Northwick that he had never deceived
himself about. He had a feeling, too, that