Her beautiful face, half turned over her shoulder, quivered slightly.

"If you knew how I--" she began, then stopped short.

"That's just what I was saying to Jim," put in her mother eagerly.

The girl flung up both hands in a gesture of angry protest.

"Please don't talk about me, mother--to Jim, or anybody. Do you
hear?"

Her voice shrilled suddenly loud and harsh, like an untuned string
under the bow.

Jim Dodge flung his hat on his head with an impatient exclamation.

"Come on, Fan," he said roughly. "Nobody's going to bother you. Don't
you worry."

Mrs. Dodge had gone back to her kneading board and was thumping the
dough with regular slapping motions of her capable hands, but her
thin dark face was drawn into a myriad folds and puckers of anxiety.

Fanny stooped and brushed the lined forehead with her fresh young
lips.

"Goodnight, mother," said she. "I wish you were going."

She drew back a little and looked down at her mother, smiling