She went down the stairs, keeping a still tremulous hand upon the
rail; but she smiled brightly when Alice looked up from below,
where the woodwork was again being tormented with superfluous
attentions.

"Alice, DON'T!" her mother said, commiseratingly. "You did all
that this morning and it looks lovely. What's the use of wearing
yourself out on it? You ought to be lying down, so's to look
fresh for to-night."

"Hadn't you better lie down yourself?" the daughter returned.
"Are you ill, mama?"

"Certainly not. What in the world makes you think so?"

"You look pretty pale," Alice said, and sighed heavily. "It
makes me ashamed, having you work so hard--for me."

"How foolish! I think it's fun, getting ready to entertain a
little again, like this. I only wish it hadn't turned so hot:
I'm afraid your poor father'll suffer--his things are pretty
heavy, I noticed. Well, it'll do him good to bear something for
style's sake this once, anyhow!" She laughed, and coming to
Alice, bent down and kissed her. "Dearie," she said, tenderly,
"wouldn't you please slip upstairs now and take just a little
teeny nap to please your mother?"

But Alice responded only by moving her head slowly, in token of
refusal.