t
literary men. But you can see, aunty, can't you, how very anxious I must
be? Don't you see that I ought to have been there when Willis and Edward
met, so as to--to--well, to _break_ them to each other, don't you know?

AUNT MARY. Oh, you needn't be troubled about that, Agnes. I dare say
they've got on perfectly well together. Very likely they're sitting down
to the unwholesomest hot supper this instant that the ingenuity of man
could invent.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, do you _think_ they are, aunty? Oh, if I could _only_
believe they were sitting down to a hot supper together now, I should be
_so_ happy! They'd be sure to get on if they were. There's nothing like
eating to make men friendly with each other. Don't you know, at
receptions, how they never have anything to say to each other till the
escalloped oysters and the chicken salad appear; and then how sweet they
are as soon as they've helped the ladies to ice? Oh, thank you, _thank_
you, aunty, for thinking of the hot supper. It's such a relief to my
mind! You can understand, can't you, aunty dear, how anxious I must have
been to have my only brother and my only--my husband--get on nicely
together? My life would be a wreck, simply a wreck, if they didn't. And
Willis and I not having seen each other since I was a child makes it all
the worse. I do _hope_ they're sitting down to a hot supper.

AN ANGRY VOICE from the next berth but one. I wish people in sleeping-
cars--

A VOICE from the berth beyond that. You're mistaken in your premises,
sir. This is a waking-car. Ladies, go on, and oblige an eager listener.

[Sensation, and smothered laughter from the other berths.]

MRS. ROBERTS (after a space of terrified silence, in a loud whisper to
her AUNT.) What horrid things! But now we really must go to bed. It
_was_ too bad to keep talking. I'd no idea my voice was getting so loud.
Which berth will you have, aunty? I'd better take the upper one,
because--

AUNT MARY (whispering). No, no; I must take that, so that you can be
with the baby below.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, how good you are, Aunt Mary! It's too bad; it is
really. I can't let you.

AUNT MARY. Well, then, you must; that's all. You know how that child
tosses and kicks about in the night. You never can tell where his head's
going to be in the morning, but you'll probably find it at the foot of
the bed. I couldn't sleep an instant, my dear, if I thought that boy was
in the upper ber