for an instant. "No, I'll----" He paused, and finished lamely:
"I'll--not tell her."

Thus reassured, Mrs. Adams set before him some details of her
daughter's popularity at sixteen, dwelling upon Alice's
impartiality among her young suitors: "She never could BEAR to
hurt their feelings, and always treated all of them just alike.
About half a dozen of them were just BOUND to marry her!
Naturally, her father and I considered any such idea ridiculous;
she was too young, of course."

Thus the mother went on with her biographical sketches, while
the pale young man sat facing her under the hard overhead light
of a white globe, set to the ceiling; and listened without
interrupting. She was glad to have the chance to tell him a few
things about Alice he might not have guessed for himself, and,
indeed, she had planned to find such an opportunity, if she
could; but this was getting to be altogether too much of one, she
felt. As time passed, she was like an actor who must improvise
to keep the audience from perceiving that his fellow-players have
missed their cues; but her anxiety was not betrayed to the still
listener; she had a valiant soul.

Alice, meanwhile, had arranged her little roses on the table in
as many ways, probably, as there were blossoms; and she was still
at it when her father arrived in the dining-room by way of the
back stairs and the kitchen.

"It's pulled out again," he said. "But I guess there's no help
for it now; it's too late, and anyway it lets some air into me