im, relaxing rather limply in the corner of the
couch, with a hand dangling over the farther edge of it.

"You're an inconsistent being," David said. "You buoy all the rest of
us up with your faith in the well-being of our child, and then you
pine yourself sick over her absence."

"It's Christmas coming on. We always had such a beautiful time on
Christmas. It was so much fun buying her presents. It isn't like
Christmas at all with her gone from us."

"Do you remember how crazy she was over the ivory set?"

"And the bracelet watch?"

"Do you remember the Juliet costume?" David's eyes kindled at the
reminiscence. "How wonderful she was in it."

Margaret drew her feet up on the couch suddenly, and clasped her hands
about her knees. David laughed.

"I haven't seen you do that for years," he said.

"What?"

"Hump yourself in that cryptic way."

"Haven't you?" she said. "I was just wondering--" but she stopped
herself suddenly.

"Wondering what?" David was watching her narrowly, and perceiving it,
she flushed.

"This is not my idea of an interesting conversation," she said; "it's
getting too personal."

"I can remember the time when you told me that you didn't find things
interesting unless they were personal. 'I like things very personal,'
you said--in those words."

"I did then."

"What has changed you?" David asked gravely.

"The chill wind of the world, I guess; the most personal part of me is
frozen stiff."

"I never saw a warmer creature in my life," David protested. "On that
same occasion you said that being a woman was about like being a field
of clover in an insectless world. You don't feel that way nowadays,
surely,--at the rate the insects have been buzzing around you this
winter. I've counted at least seven, three bees, one or two beetles, a
butterfly and a worm."

"I didn't know you paid that much attention to my poor affairs."

"I do, though. If you hadn't put your foot down firmly on the worm, I
had every intention of doing so."

"Had you?"

"I had."

"On that occasion to which you refer I remember I also said that I had
a queer hunch about Eleanor."

"Margaret, are you deliberately changing the subject?"

"I am."

"Then I shall bring the butterfly up later."

"I said," Margaret ignored his interruption, "that I had the feeling
that she was going to be a storm center and bring some kind of queer
trouble upon us."

"Yes."

"She did, didn't she?"

"I'm not so sure that's