yes, and without moving a
muscle of their face. Though he usually smiled at passages that seemed
not at all funny to the child, she always laughed gleefully, because he
was so seldom moved to mirth that any such demonstration delighted her
and she took the credit of it entirely to herself Her own inclination
had been for serious stories, with sad endings, like the Little Mermaid,
which he had once told her in an unguarded moment when she had a cold,
and was put to bed early on her birthday night and cried because she
could not have her party. But he highly disapproved of this preference,
and had called it a morbid taste, and always shook his finger at her
when she asked for the story. When she had been particularly good, or
particularly neglected by other people, then he would sometimes melt
and tell her the story, and never laugh at her if she enjoyed the "sad
ending" even to tears. When Flavia had taken him away and he came no
more, she wept inconsolably for the space of two weeks, and refused
to learn her lessons. Then she found the story of the Little Mermaid
herself, and forgot him.

Imogen had discovered at dinner that he could still smile at one
secretly, out of his eyes, and that he had the old manner of outwardly
seeming bored, but letting you know that he was not. She was intensely
curious about his exact state of feeling toward his wife, and more
curious still to catch a sense of his final adjustment to the conditions
of life in general. This, she could not help feeling, she might get
again--if she could have him alone for an hour, in some place where
there was a little river and a sandy cove bordered by drooping willows,
and a blue sky seen through white sycamore boughs.

That evening, before retiring, Flavia entered her husband's room, where
he sat in his smoking jacket, in one of his favorite low chairs.

"I suppose it's a grave responsibility to bring an ardent, serious young
thing like Imogen here among all these fascinating personages," she
remarked reflectively. "But, after all, one can never tell. These grave,
silent girls have their own charm, even for facile people."

"Oh, so that is your plan?" queried her husband dryly. "I was wondering
why you got her up here. She doesn't seem to mix well with the faciles.
At least, so it struck me."

Flavia paid no heed to this jeering remark, but repeated, "No, after
all, it may not be a bad thing."

"Then do consign her to that shaken reed, the tenor," s