worse than this dinner must be "the matter with him."

The small room, suffocated with the odour of boiled sprouts, grew
hotter and hotter as more and more food appeared, slowly borne
in, between deathly long waits, by the resentful, loud-breathing
Gertrude. And while Alice still sought Russell's glance, and
read the look upon his face a dozen different ways, fearing all
of them; and while the straggling little flowers died upon the
stained cloth, she felt her heart grow as heavy as the food, and
wondered that it did not die like the roses.

With the arrival of coffee, the host bestirred himself to make
known a hospitable regret, "By George!" he said. "I meant to buy
some cigars." He addressed himself apologetically to the guest.
"I don't know what I was thinking about, to forget to bring some
home with me. I don't use 'em myself--unless somebody hands me
one, you might say. I've always been a pipe-smoker, pure and
simple, but I ought to remembered for kind of an occasion like
this."

"Not at all," Russell said. "I'm not smoking at all lately; but
when I do, I'm like you, and smoke a pipe."

Alice started, remembering what she had told him when he overtook
her on her way from the tobacconist's; but, after a moment,
looking at him, she decided that he must have forgotten it. If
he had remembered, she thought, he could not have helped glancing
at her. On the contrary, he seemed more at ease, just then, than
he had since they sat down, for he was favouring her father with
a thoughtful attention as Adams responded to the introduction of