"_You_ don't think so," she said.

"Well, mebbe not, mebbe not," responded Uncle William. "I'm sort o'
queer, perhaps."

She had turned to him half wistfully. "Don't you think I might see
him--just a little while?"

Uncle William shook his head. "You've been too good to him. That's the
wust of wimmen folks. What he needs now is a tonic--suthin' kind o'
bitter." He chuckled. "He's got me."

She smiled. "When are you going to take him away?"

"To-morrow."

She started. "It is very soon," she said softly.

"Sooner the better," said Uncle William. "It'll do us both good to
smell the sea." He pulled out the great watch. "Must be 'most time to be
startin'." He peered at it uncertainly.

"Yes, we must go." She rose and brought her hat, a fragile thing of lace
and mist, and a little lace mantle with long floating ends. She put them
on before the mirror that hung above the table where the copying lay,
giving little turns and touches of feminine pleasure.

Uncle William's eyes followed her good-humoredly.

She turned to him, her face glowing, starlike, out of the lace and mist.