at not seeing you. He asked me--" Mrs. Mundy, on her knees,
unbuttoned my shoes and drew them off. "Your feet are near 'bout
frozen, and no wonder. Your stockings are wet clean through, and I'm
letting you sit here in them when I promised him I'd see you didn't
kill yourself doing these very things. You just put your feet on the
fender while I get some dry clothes. He says to me, says he: 'Mrs.
Mundy, the one human being she gives no thought to is herself, and
will you please take care of her? She don't understand'"--

"Oh, I do understand!" My voice was wearily protesting. "The one
thing men don't want women to do is to understand. They want us to
be sweet and pretty--and not understand. Selwyn talks as if I were a
child. I am perfectly able to take care of myself."

"Maybe you are, but you don't do it--least-ways, not always. I
promised him I wouldn't let you wear yourself out, and I promised
him--"

"What?"

"That I wouldn't let you go too far. He says you've lost your
patience with people, specially women, who think it's not their
business to bother with things that--that aren't nice, and you're apt
to go to the other extreme and forget how people talk."

"About some things they don't talk enough. Did--did he leave any
message for me?"

Again Mrs. Mundy shook her head. "I think he wanted to talk to you
about something he couldn't send messages about."