dith said, generously, that she
"didn't mind a bit!" It was at that point that the race of God kept her
father from murdering her, for, in a real desire to be polite and cover
up the defective dessert, she became very talkative, and said, wasn't it
funny? When she was little, she thought a harpy played on a harp; "and I
thought you had a harp, because father--"

"I'd like some more ice cream!" Mr. Houghton interrupted, passionately.

"But there's salt in it!" said Edith, surprised. To which her father
replied, breathlessly, that he believed he'd not go out on the river; he
had a headache. ("Mary has got to do something about this child!")

"_I'll_ go," Edith announced, cheerfully.

"I think I'll stay at home," Eleanor said; "my head is rather inclined
to ache, too, Mr. Houghton; so we'll none of us go."

"Me and Maurice will," Edith protested, dismayed.

Maurice gave an anxious look at Eleanor: "It might do your head good,
Nelly?"

"Oh, let's go by ourselves," Edith burst out; "I mean," she corrected
herself, "people like father and Eleanor never enjoy the things we do.
They like to talk."

"I'd like to choke you!" the exasperated father thought. But he cast a
really frightened eye at Eleanor, who grew a little paler. There was
some laborious talk in the small parlor, where Eleanor's piano took up
most of the space: comments on the weather, and explanations of Bingo's
snarling. "He's jealous," Eleanor said, with amused pride, and stroking
the little faithful head that pressed so closely against her.

At which Edith began, eagerly, "Father says--" ("What the deuce will she
say now?" poor Mr. Houghton thought)--"Father says Rover has a human
being's horridest vice--jealousy."

"I don't think jealousy is a vice," Eleanor said, coldly.

Mr. Houghton, giving his offspring a terrible glance, said that he must
go back to the hotel and take something for his headache; "And don't
keep that imp out too late, Maurice. You want to get home and take care
of Eleanor."

"Oh no; he doesn't," Eleanor said, and shook hands with her embarrassed
guest, who was saying, under his breath, "_What_ taste!"

Out in the street Maurice hurried so that Edith, tucking, unasked,
her hand through his arm, had to skip once or twice to keep up with
him.... "Maurice," she said, breathlessly, "will you let me row?"

"O Lord--yes! I don't care."

After that Edith did all the talking, until they reached the wharf where
Maurice kept his boa