Two hours later, as Clytemnestra attained ultimate perfection in the
arrangement of four glass dishes of preserves and three varieties of
cake upon her table--for she still kept to the sinfully complex fare of
the good old simple days--Nancy came out. Clytie stood erect to peer
anxiously over the lamp at her.

"I'm all right--you were a dear to let me sleep. See how fresh I am."

"You do look pearter, child--but you look different from when you came.
My suz! you looked so excited and kind of young when I opened that door,
it give me a start for a minute--I thought I'd woke out of a dream and
you was a Miss in short skirts again. But now--let me see you closer."
She came around the table, then continued: "Well, you look fresh and
sweet and some rested, and you look old and reasonable again--I mean as
old as you had ought to look. I never did know you to act that way
before, child. My neck ain't got the crick out of it yet."

"Poor old Clytie--but you see yesterday all day I felt queer--very
queer, and wrought up, and last night I couldn't rest, and I lay awake
and excited all night--and something seemed to give way when I saw you
in the door. Of course it was nervousness, and I shall be all right
now--"

She looked up and saw Bernal staring at her--standing in the doorway of
the big room, his face shading into the dusk back of him. She went to
him with both hands out and he kissed her.

"Is it Nance?"

"I don't know--but it's really Bernal."