f-consciousness and constraint
closed in like bars across the door of spontaneity. Alexina had
arrived the night before and they were at breakfast. Uncle Austen was
facetiously affable, and his sportive sallies, not being natural with
him, embarrassed his audience. There is something almost pitiable in
the sight of middle-age grown playful.

Emily, Uncle Austen's wife--embarrassing realization in itself--looked
in her plate constrainedly, so that Alexina, if only that his further
playfulness might be prevented, threw herself into the conversation
and chattered volubly, but in vain, for Uncle Austen found chance to
reply.

There was complacency in his facetiousness, too. He had married him a
wife, and the pride of the thing coming to him this late made him a
little absurd, and yet, Alexina reflected, he was a man of big ability
and varied interests, prominent in whatever large enterprises the city
boasted, banks, railroads, bridges; a power in the Republican party of
his state, his name standing for respectability, wealth, and
conservatism.

"I'm taking pretty good care of your old friend Emily, Alexina?" Uncle
Austen was demanding playfully, as he arose from the table; "she's
standing transplanting pretty well, eh?"

Emily got up abruptly, so abruptly her chair would have turned over
but for his quickness in getting there to catch it, but his good
humour was proof even against this, though he ordinarily frowned at
awkwardness. He set the chair in place, and taking Emily's hand as
they all went from the room, patted it ostentatiously. Alexina grew
hot.

"A pretty hand, a hand for a man to be proud to own, eh, Alexina?"

Emily almost snatched it away and paused at the foot of the stairs.

"Good-by," she said.

He was finding his overcoat and feeling for his gloves. Then he took a
little whisk-broom from the rack drawer and brushed his hat with
nicety. He was smiling with high humour. The man's content was almost
fatuous.

"I'm glad to have you here, Alexina," he said; "very glad. I will feel
that Emily is having the companionship she ought to have in my
absence."

The click of the door as he closed it seemed to breathe a brisk and
satisfied complacency. Emily had fled up-stairs. Alexina followed her
slowly.

How strange it seemed to hear her moving about in what had been Aunt
Harriet's room.

"Come in," she called.

Alexina went in.

"He might at least have refurnished it, mightn't he?" said Emily, wi