"_So_ glad to see you!" she said with graceful effusion--"And the
Doctor? And that queer, fascinating, puzzling brother of yours, how are
they? So glad! Yes, poor sister keeps to her room and you really mustn't
linger with me an instant. I'm not even going to ask you to sit down. Go
right up. Her door's at the end of the hall, you know. You'll comfort
the poor thing beautifully, you dear!"

She paused for breath, a vivid smile taking the place of words. Mrs.
Linford, rendered oddly, almost obstinately reserved by this excessive
cordiality, was conscious of something unnatural in that smile--a too
great intensity, like the greenness of artificial palms.

"Thank you so much for coming, you angel," she went on playfully, "for
doubtless I shall not be visible when you go. You see Donald's off in
the back of the house re-arranging whole shelves of wretched, dusty
books and he fancies that he must have my suggestions."

"The door at the end of the hall!" she trilled in sweet but unmistakable
dismissal, one arm pointing gracefully aloft from its enveloping foam of
draperies, that same too-intense smile upon the Greek face that even
Nancy, in moments of humane expansion, had admitted to be all but
faultless. And the latter, wondering not a little at the stiff
disposition to have her quickly away, which she had somehow divined
through all the gushing cordiality of Mrs. Wyeth's manner, went on
upstairs. As she rapped at Mrs. Eversley's door, the bell of the street
door sounded in her ears.

Somewhat less than an hour after, she came softly out again, opening and
closing the door noiselessly. So effectually had she soothed the