she looked very small, indeed, in it. She wore a
brave red ribbon in her hair, a necklace of red beads, and a long gilt
chain which glittered splendidly as she moved.

"What makes you look at me that way, Mr. V.V.?"

The young man gave a small start and sigh.

"You must take better care of yourself, Corinne," said he, from the
depths of troubled thought. "I shall certainly do something better for
you later on. That I promise."

"Why, I feel very, _very_ well, Mr. V.V., truly."

"You're much too clever and pretty to be wearing your life out at this
sort of thing.... Much too dear a little girl...."

Kern turned away. Mr. V.V. had never said such a thing to her before,
and he now made a mental note that he must be careful not to do it
again. He had honestly intended only a matter-of-fact statement of
simple and, on the whole, pleasant truth; but Kern, with her
sensitiveness and strange delicacy, too clearly felt that he had taken a
liberty. All her gaiety died; her cheek seemed to flush a little. She
walked stiffly past Mr. V.V. to the door, never looking in his
direction.

"I'll go soak the colliflower, sir," she murmured, and slipped away into
the hall.

XIII

How Life was Gray and Everything was Horrid; how Carlisle
went to Little Africa with Hen; how the Man spoke to her
again, just the same, and what happened then; further,
reporting a Confidential Talk with a Best Girl-Friend.

Hearing the whir of a slowing motor behind her, and her name called
besides, Henrietta Cooney checked her practised pedestrian's stride and
looked back over her shoulder. The Heth car, with Carlisle alone in it,
rolled abreast of her at the curb.

"What on earth are _you_ doing, Hen," asked her cousin, but hardly as if
the matter interested her much--"up here at this time!"

"Servant chasing!" cried Hen, gaily. "My favorite outdoor sport.
Hortense's left us. I got out early on purpose. You're looking mighty
well, Cally."

Cally made a weary little face, which seemed to say that such matters as
looks were very far from being of interest to her. It happened to be the
fact, indeed, that she had never felt more depressed and bereft in her
life: witness her hailing Hen Cooney, whom she had never cared much for,
and less than ever after the way Hen had shown her real nature about the
Works. Time's chances had brought her to this, that she preferred Hen's
society above the company of her own thought