"Oh, nothing," Alice said, indifferently, as she turned away.
"That Mr. Russell met me downtown and walked up with me."

"Mr. Russell? Oh, the one that's engaged to Mildred?"

"Well--I don't know for certain. He didn't seem so much like an
engaged man to me." And she added, in the tone of thoughtful
preoccupation: "Anyhow--not so terribly!"

Then she ran upstairs, gave her father his tobacco, filled his
pipe for him, and petted him as he lighted it.



CHAPTER XI

After that, she went to her room and sat down before her
three-leaved mirror. There was where she nearly always sat when
she came into her room, if she had nothing in mind to do. She
went to that chair as naturally as a dog goes to his corner.

She leaned forward, observing her profile; gravity seemed to be
her mood. But after a long, almost motionless scrutiny, she
began to produce dramatic sketches upon that ever-ready stage,
her countenance: she showed gaiety, satire, doubt, gentleness,
appreciation of a companion and love-in-hiding--all studied in
profile first, then repeated for a "three-quarter view."
Subsequently she ran through them, facing herself in full.