worded letter, and hot when she thought of her father's relief
thereat. And here, here was the man who must have dictated the letter,
and probably paid the debt, behaving just as if such things never
existed. He was walking with her--she could not give him ten yards
start and follow him into the village--and making polite conversations
about the weather, and the road, and the quantity of soup that had
been spilled.

She pulled herself together, and, feeling the situation to be beyond
remedy, determined to bear herself bravely, and carry it off with what
credit she could. She glanced at the more than half-empty soup can. "I
am afraid you are right," she said; "there is a great deal of it gone;
still, that is not without advantage--I shall be sent to take some
more in a day or two."

"You wish that?" he inquired.

"Yes," she answered, "I find the exercise beneficial; I have had too
much pudding lately."

He looked politely surprised, and she went on to explain.

"It is very wholesome," she said, "but a bit stodgy; I think it is too
really good to be taken in such large quantities by any one like me.
It is unbelievably good, it makes one perfectly ashamed of oneself;
and unbelievably narrow, it makes one long for bed-time."

She broke off to smile at his more genuine surprise, and her smile,
like that of some other people of little real beauty, was one of
singular charm.