after a while, "what shade would you call your hair if it was--well,
kind of brighter?"

"_What?_ said Martha, looking at him over her spectacles; she put up
her hard capable hand and touched her hair softly, as if she had
forgotten it. "My hair used to be a real chestnut. Do you mean
chestnut?"

"I guess I do. It's a pretty color."

Martha looked at him with a queer shyness in her married eyes, then
tossed her head a little and thrust her darning-needle into the gray
stocking with a jaunty air. "That's what you used to say," she said.
After a while, noticing his tired lounge in the old chair, she said
kindly, "Why did you stay so long at Dr. Lavendar's, Willy? You look
tired. Do go to bed."

"Oh," William explained, "I didn't stay very long; he asked me to see
Mrs. Richie home. She had taken tea with him."

Martha's face suddenly hardened. "Oh," she said coldly. Then, after a
short silence: "Mrs. Richie's hair is too untidy for my taste."

When Dr. Lavendar went back into the study he found David curled up in
an arm-chair in profound meditation.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Dr. Lavendar said.

"Yesterday. After church."