p last night; that's why
I'm--I'm tired. The night was so long and I was afraid. I see Jean
when I try to sleep. I hear him cough. Give me something to make me
sleep--oh, mammy, give it to me."

The girl in the next room stood gazing out the window over the roofs
and chimney stacks at the yellow tide of the river sweeping down
towards the pier bridge spanning it, but she was not seeing it. She
was filled with pity and terror.

It grew quieter in the next room, then still, then the door between
opened and closed. It was Celeste, outwardly unmoved and taciturn.

"P'tite's gone to sleep. Shall I help lil' missy unpack her things?"

CHAPTER SEVEN

Summer in a half-grown Southern city is full of charm; pretty girls in
muslin dresses stroll the shopping streets and stop on the sidewalks
to chat with each other and with callow youths; picnic parties board
the street cars, and in the evenings sounds of music and dancing float
out from open doors and windows along the residence streets.

Alexina, chaperoned by Harriet Blair, would have found herself in
these things, yet never quite of them.

"Malise," Molly said quite earnestly, a day or so after her coming,
"don't you think it's stuffy here?"

It was stuffy; hotel rooms in summer are apt to be; Alexina felt as
apologetic as if Molly were the one who had given up a spacious,
comfortable home to come and live in rooms for her. "I'm sorry," she
said. She had explained the necessity for it before.

"I thought you'd gotten the bank to take charge of your affairs,"
Molly reminded her; "so why do we have to stay?"

"I have, but it's a different thing, very, from having Uncle Austen,
personally--"

She stopped; it might seem to be reminding Molly that she had caused
the break with Austen Blair.

But Molly never took disagreeable things personally. She threw her
arms back of her head. "Can't you propose something to do?" she
entreated.

"We might go round to the stores," suggested Alexina doubtfully. She
hated stores herself.

Molly brightened. "I need some summer things."

Alexina agreed, yet she wondered. Seven trunks can disgorge a good
many clothes; "mere debris from the wreckage of things," Molly
explained, though they didn't look it. Yet in a way Alexina
understood. It wasn't the actual things Molly wanted; it was the
diversion, and so at the suggestion Molly cheered up. "You look pretty
in summer clothes, Malise," she stated with graciousness, as they