that if--if one were in the Sheridan family"--she laughed a little
ruefully--"he might be interesting to talk to sometimes, when there
was too much stocks and bonds. I didn't see him after dinner."

"There must be something wrong with him," said Mrs. Vertrees.
"They'd have introduced him if there wasn't."

"I don't know. He's been ill so much and away so much--sometimes
people like that just don't seem to 'count' in a family. His father
spoke of sending him back to a machine-shop or some sort; I suppose
he meant when the poor thing gets better. I glanced at him just
then, when Mr. Sheridan mentioned him, and he happened to be looking
straight at me; and he was pathetic-looking enough before that, but
the most tragic change came over him. He seemed just to die, right
there at the table!"

"You mean when his father spoke of sending him to the shop place?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Sheridan must be very unfeeling."

"No," said Mary, thoughtfully, "I don't think he is; but he might be
uncomprehending, and certainly he's the kind of man to do anything he
once sets out to do. But I wish I hadn't been looking at that poor
boy just then! I'm afraid I'll keep remembering--"

"I wouldn't." Mrs. Vertrees smiled faintly, and in her smile there
was the remotest ghost of a genteel roguishness. "I'd keep my mind
on pleasanter things, Mary."