eople call 'the joy of the
household'--always cheerful, no matter what went wrong, and always ready
to smooth things over with some bright, witty saying. You must be sure
not to TELL we've had this little chat about her--she'd just be furious
with me--but she IS such a dear child! You won't tell her, will you?"

"No," he said, and again applied the handkerchief to his forehead for an
instant. "No, I'll----" He paused, and finished lamely: "I'll--not tell
her."

Thus reassured, Mrs. Adams set before him some details of her daughter's
popularity at sixteen, dwelling upon Alice's impartiality among her
young suitors: "She never could BEAR to hurt their feelings, and always
treated all of them just alike. About half a dozen of them were just
BOUND to marry her! Naturally, her father and I considered any such idea
ridiculous; she was too young, of course."

Thus the mother went on with her biographical sketches, while the pale
young man sat facing her under the hard overhead light of a white globe,
set to the ceiling; and listened without interrupting. She was glad to
have the chance to tell him a few things about Alice he might not
have guessed for himself, and, indeed, she had planned to find such an
opportunity, if she could; but this was getting to be altogether too
much of one, she felt. As time passed, she was like an actor who must
improvise to keep the audience from perceiving that his fellow-players
have missed their cues; but her anxiety was not betrayed to the still
listener; she had a valiant soul.

Alice, meanwhile, had arranged her little roses on the table in as many
ways, probably, as there were blossoms; and she was still at it when
her father arrived in the dining-room by way of the back stairs and the
kitchen.

"It's pulled out again," he said. "But I guess there's no help for it
now; it's too late, and anyway it lets some air into me when it bulges.
I can sit so's it won't be noticed much, I expect. Isn't it time you
quit bothering about the looks of the table? Your mother's been talking
to him about half an hour now, and I had the idea he came on your
account, not hers. Hadn't you better go and----"

"Just a minute." Alice said, piteously. "Do YOU think it looks all
right?"

"The flowers? Fine! Hadn't you better leave 'em the way they are,
though?"

"Just a minute," she begged again. "Just ONE minute, papa!" And she
exchanged a rose in front of Russell's plate for one that seemed to her
a litt