or herself. He sometimes brought her
books, the light sort which form the sentimental currency of young
people, and she lent them round among the other ladies, who were
insatiable of them. She took a pleasure in these attentions, as if they
had been for some one else. In this alien sense she liked to be followed
up with a chair to the point where she wished to sit; to have her hat
fetched, or her shawl; to drop her work or her handkerchief, secure that
it would be picked up for her.

It all interested her, and it was a relief from the circumstances that
would have forbidden her to recognize it as gallantry, even if her own
mind had not been so far from all thought of that. His kindness followed
often upon some application of hers for his advice or help, for she had
fallen into the habit of going to him with difficulties. He had a prompt
common sense that made him very useful in emergencies, and a sympathy
or an insight that was quick in suggestions and expedients. Perhaps
she overrated other qualities of his in her admiration of the practical
readiness which kept his amiability from seeming weak. But the practical
had so often been the unattainable with her that it was not strange she
should overrate it, and that she should rest upon it in him with a trust
that included all he chose to do in her behalf.

"What is the matter, Mr. Libby?" she asked, as he came toward her.

"Is anything the matter?" he demanded in turn.

"Yes; you are looking downcast," she cried reproachfully.

"I didn't know that I mustn't look downcast. I did n't suppose it would
be very polite, under the circumstances, to go round looking as bobbish
as I feel."

"It's the best thing you could possibly do. But you're not feeling very
bobbish now." A woman respects the word a man uses, not because she
would have chosen it, but because she thinks that he has an exact
intention in it, which could not be reconveyed in a more feminine
phrase. In this way slang arises. "Is n't it time for Mr. Maynard to be
here?"

"Yes," he answered. Then, "How did you know I was thinking of that?"

"I did n't. I only happened to think it was time. What are you keeping
back, Mr. Libby?" she pursued tremulously.

"Nothing, upon my honor. I almost wish there were something to keep
back. But there is n't anything. There have n't been any accidents
reported. And I should n't keep anything back from you."

"Why?"

"Because you would be equal to it, whatever it was."