no good."

"Well," Gregory inquired, "how much more?"

"I don't know, silly; but packs."

"Seventy-seven dollars?"

"That depends on how long you leave it in the bank," Lee instructed
him. "If you didn't ask for it for twenty years--"

"But I want it next Thursday," Gregory hotly interrupted; "won't it be
any bigger then?"

"He does nothing but ask and ask questions," Helena added. Lee patted
Gregory's cheek:

"Don't let Helena discourage you. If I don't put the light out your
mother will make me go to bed."

There were breathless delighted giggles at the thought of that
absurdity. He leaned over his son. "Kiss me!" Helena cried. "Now kiss
me," Gregory echoed. "Kiss me back again--"

The light went out with a sharp click, and the room was once more a
glimmering darkness, blanched and cold. The ruddy faces of the
children, their bright hair, even their voices, were subdued. Fanny,
apparently, hadn't moved; the light at her shoulder was reflected in
the cut steel buckles of her slippers; she had slight but graceful
ankles. He recognized this, drawing a sheaf of reports from his brief-