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She talks that same kind of wistful, moony way sometimes--I
don't mean to say I mind it in either of you, because I rather like to
listen to it, and you've got a very good voice, mother. It's nice to
listen to, no matter how much smoke and sky, and so on, you talk.
So's Lucy's for that matter; and I see why you're congenial. She
talks that way to her father, too; and he's right there with the same
kind of guff. Well, it's all right with me!" He laughed, teasingly,
and allowed her to retain his hand, which she had fondly seized.
"I've got plenty to think about when people drool along!"
She pressed his hand to her cheek, and a tear made a tiny warm streak
across one of his knuckles.
"For heaven's sake!" he said. "What's the matter? Isn't everything
all right?"
"You're going away!"
"Well, I'm coming back, don't you suppose? Is that all that worries
you?"
She cheered up, and smiled again, but shook her head. "I never can
bear to see you go--that's the most of it. I'm a little bothered
about your father, too.


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