increasing the emphasis of her gesture, while Alice talked
briskly; but the brooding waitress continued to brood. A faint
snap of the fingers failed to disturb her; nor was a covert
hissing whisper of avail, and Mrs. Adams was beginning to show
signs of strain when her daughter relieved her.

"Imagine our trying to eat anything so hot as soup on a night
like this!" Alice laughed. "What COULD have been in the cook's
mind not to give us something iced and jellied instead? Of
course it's because she's equatorial, herself, originally, and
only feels at home when Mr. Satan moves it north." She looked
round at Gertrude, who stood behind her. "Do take this dreadful
soup away!"

Thus directly addressed, Gertrude yielded her attention, though
unwillingly, and as if she decided only by a hair's weight not to
revolt, instead. However, she finally set herself in slow
motion; but overlooked the supposed head of the table, seeming to
be unaware of the sweltering little man who sat there. As she
disappeared toward the kitchen with but three of the cups upon
her tray he turned to look plaintively after her, and ventured an
attempt to recall her.

"Here!" he said, in a low voice. "Here, you!"

"What is it, Virgil?" his wife asked.

"What's her name?"

Mrs. Adams gave him a glance of sudden panic, and, seeing that