anxiety, and accustomed
to his absences, replied naively, "Why?"

"Oh," responded Mrs. Windibrook, "on account of his great business
responsibilities, you know; so much depends upon him."

Again Cissy did not comprehend; she could not understand why this
masterful man, her father, who was equal to her own and, it seemed,
everybody's needs, had any responsibility, or was not as infallible
and constant as the sunshine or the air she breathed. Without being his
confidante, or even his associate, she had since her mother's death no
other experience; youthfully alive to the importance of their wealth, it
seemed to her, however, only a natural result of being HIS daughter. She
smiled vaguely and a little impatiently. They might have talked to
her about HERSELF; it was a little tiresome to always have to answer
questions about her "popper." Nevertheless, she availed herself of
Mrs. Windibrook's invitation to go into the garden and see the new
summerhouse that had been put up among the pines, and gradually diverted
her hostess's conversation into gossip of the town. If it was somewhat
lugubrious and hesitating, it was, however, a relief to Cissy, and
bearing chiefly upon the vicissitudes of others, gave her the comforting
glow of comparison.

Touching the complexion of the Secamp girls, Mrs. Windibrook attributed
it to their great privations in the alkali desert. "One day," continued
Mrs. Windibrook, "when their father was ill with fever and ague, they
drove the cattle twenty miles to water through that dreadful poisonous
dust, and when they got there their lips were cracked and bleeding and
their eyelids like burning knives, and Mamie Secamp's hair, which used
to be a beautiful brown like your own, my dear, was bleached into a
rusty yellow."

"And they WILL wear colors that don't suit them," said Cissy
impatiently.

"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Windibrook ambiguously; "I suppose they
will have their reward."

Nor was the young engineer discussed in a lighter vein. "It pains me
dreadfully to see that young man working with the common laborers and
giving himself no rest, just because he says he wants to know exactly
'how the thing is done' and why the old works failed," she remarked
sadly. "When Mr. Windibrook knew he was the son of Judge Masterton and
had rich relations, he wished, of course, to be civil, but somehow young
Masterton and he didn't 'hit off.' Indeed, Mr. Windibrook was told that
he had declared that the