istened with a curling lip. "Do you mean that for an
offer?" he said in a smothered voice.

"I mean it for an offer, certainly."

"Oh, William!" cried his wife, turning appealing eyes up to his face.

He grew suddenly white, and brought his clenched hand heavily down on the
table. The dishes rattled with the jar, and the baby, scared at the noise,
began to scream. "Then," said Bailey, "you may just understand that a man
ain't always a sneak if he _is_ poor; and you can be glad you ain't a man
that's tempting me to turn traitor."

"I am sure my friend didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Mrs. Greymer
explained quickly, giving the countess that expressive side-glance which
much more plainly than words says, "Now you _have_ done it!" Mrs. Bailey
was walking up and down soothing the baby: the little boy looked on
open-eyed.

"I am sorry if I have said anything which has seemed like an insult," said
the countess: "I certainly didn't intend one. Perhaps after you have
thought it all over you will feel differently. You know where to find me.
Good-evening."

She held out her hand, which Bailey did not seem to see, smiled on the
little boy and went out, leaving Mrs. Greymer behind.

A little girl with pretty brown curls and deep-blue eyes was making
sand-caves on the shore. The countess spoke to her in passing, and left
her staring at her two hands, which were full of silver coin. At the
bridge the countess paused to wait for her friend. She saw her come out,
attended by Mrs. Bailey: she saw Mrs. Bailey watch her, saw the little
girl give her mother the money, and then she saw the woman, still carrying
her baby in her arms, walk slowly down the river-bank to where a boat lay
keel uppermost like a great black arrowhead on the sand. Here she sat
down, and, clasping the child closer, hid her face in its white hair.

"And, upon my soul, I believe she is crying," said the spectator, who
stopped at the commandant's house and obtained the pass before she went
home.

On Monday, Mrs. Greymer proposed asking little Willie Bailey to spend a
week with them. The countess assented, merely saying, "You must take the
little skeleton to drive every day, and send the livery-bills to me."

"Then I shall drive over this afternoon if Freddy's sore throat is
better," said Mrs. Greymer.

But she did not go: Freddy's sore throat was worse instead of better, and
his sister had enough to do for some days fighting off diphtheria. So it
happene