so, for a motionless half-hour, studied the unrounded, uncolored,
unlightened face that stared back at her; her eyes darkening at its
eyes, her hair touching its hair, her breath dimming the outline of its
repulsive mouth.

By and by she dropped her head into her hands. The poor, mistaken face!
She felt as if she would like to blot it out of the world, as her tears
used to blot out the wrong sums upon her slate. It had been so happy!
But he was sorry for it, and all that. Why did a good God make such
faces?

She slipped upon her knees, bewildered.

"He _can't_ mean any harm nohow," she said, speaking fast, and knelt
there and said it over till she felt sure of it.

Then she thought of Del once more,--of her colors and sinuous springs,
and little cries and chatter.

After a time she found that she was growing faint, and so stole down
into the kitchen for some food. She stayed a minute to warm her feet.
The fire was red and the clock was ticking. It seemed to her home-like
and comfortable, and she seemed to herself very homeless and lonely; so
she sat down on the floor, with her head in a chair, and cried as hard
as she ought to have done four hours ago.

She climbed into bed about one o'clock, having decided, in a dull way,
to give Dick up to-morrow.

But when to-morrow came he was up with a bright face, and built the