the guest of the evening was not looking at her, but down at the
white cloth before him, she frowned hard, and shook her head.

Unfortunately Alice was not observing her mother, and asked,
innocently: "What's whose name, papa?"

"Why, this young darky woman," he explained. "She left mine."

"Never mind," Alice laughed. "There's hope for you, papa. She
hasn't gone forever!"

"I don't know about that," he said, not content with this
impulsive assurance. "She LOOKED like she is." And his remark,
considered as a prediction, had begun to seem warranted before
Gertrude's return with china preliminary to the next stage of the
banquet.

Alice proved herself equal to the long gap, and rattled on
through it with a spirit richly justifying her mother's praise of
her as "always ready to smooth things over"; for here was more
than long delay to be smoothed over. She smoothed over her
father and mother for Russell; and she smoothed over him for
them, though he did not know it, and remained unaware of what he
owed her. With all this, throughout her prattlings, the girl's
bright eyes kept seeking his with an eager gayety, which but
little veiled both interrogation and entreaty--as if she asked:
"Is it too much for you? Can't you bear it? Won't you PLEASE
bear it? I would for you. Won't you give me a sign that it's
all right?"