a remarkably unprejudiced
state of mind."

He laughed. "That's the funny part of it. Did they tell you this siege had
me foolish for weeks? Honest, now, Nance, here's a case--how many are two
times two?" He waited expectantly.

"Are you serious?"

"It seems silly to you, doesn't it--but answer as if I were a child."

"Well--twice two are four--unless my own mind is at fault."

"There!--now I begin to believe it. I suppose, now, it _couldn't_ be
anything else, could it? Yesterday morning the doctor said something was
as plain as twice two are four. You know, the thing rankled in me all day.
It seemed to me that twice two ought to be twenty-two. Then I asked Clytie
and she said it was four, but that didn't satisfy me. Of course,
Clytemnestra is a dear soul, and I truly, love her, but her advantages in
an educational way have been meagre. She could hardly be considered an
authority in mathematics, even if she is the ideal cook and friend. But I
have more faith in your learning, Nance. The doctor's solution seems
plausible, since you've sided with him. I suppose you could have no motive
for deceiving me?"

She was regarding him with just a little anxiety, and this he detected.

"It's nothing to worry about, Nance--it's only funny. I haven't lost my
mind or anything, you know--spite of my tempered enthusiasm for your
face--but this is it: first there came a fearful shock--something
terrible, that shattered me--then it seemed as if that sickness found my
brain like a school-boy's slate with all his little problems worked out on
it, and wickedly gave it a swipe each side with a big wet sponge. And now
I seem to have forgotten all I ever learned. Clytie was in to feed me the
inside of a baked potato before you came. After I'd fought with her to eat
the skin of it--such a beautiful brown potato-skin, with delicious little
white particles still sticking to the inside where it hadn't all been dug
out--and after she had used her strength as no lady should, and got it
away from me, it came to me all at once that she was my mother. Then she
assured me that she was not, and that seemed quite reasonable, too. I told
her I loved her enough for a mother, anyway--and the poor thing giggled."

"Still, you have your lucid moments."

"Ah, still thinking about the face? You mean I'm lucid when you smile, and
daffy when you don't. But that's a case of it--your face--"

"My face a case of _what?_ You're getting commercial--even shoppy