Alma. He retrieved something of it with Mrs. Leighton; but Alma
glittered upon him to the last with a keen impenetrable candor, a child-
like singleness of glance, covering unfathomable reserve.

"Well, Alma," said her mother, when the door had closed upon him.

"Well, mother." Then, after a moment, she said, with a rush: "Did you
think I was going to let him suppose we were piqued at his not coming?
Did you suppose I was going to let him patronize us, or think that we
were in the least dependent on his favor or friendship?"

Her mother did not attempt to answer her. She merely said, "I shouldn't
think he would come any more."

"Well, we have got on so far without him; perhaps we can live through the
rest of the winter."

"I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He was quite stupefied. I could
see that he didn't know what to make of you."

"He's not required to make anything of me," said Alma.

"Do you think he really believed you had forgotten all those things?"

"Impossible to say, mamma."

"Well, I don't think it was quite right, Alma."

"I'll leave him to you the next time. Miss Woodburn said you were
freezing him to death when I came down."