“Another change of mind,” thought Ferris, complacently; and rising superior to the whole fitful sex, he released himself from uneasiness on Mrs. Vervain’s account. But in the evening he went to ask after her. He first sent his card to Florida, having written on it, “I hope Mrs. Vervain is better. Don’t let me come in if it’s any disturbance.” He looked for a moment at what he had written, dimly conscious that it was patronizing, and when he entered he saw that Miss Vervain stood on the defensive and from some willfulness meant to make him feel that he was presumptuous in coming; it did not comfort him to consider that she was very young. “Mother will be in directly,” said Florida in a tone that relegated their morning’s interview to the age of fable. Mrs. Vervain came in smiling and cordial, apparently better and not worse for yesterday’s misadventures. “Oh, I pick up quickly,” she explained. “I’m an old campaigner, you know. Perhaps a little _too_ old, now. Years do make a difference; and you’ll find it out as you get on, Mr. Ferris.” “I suppose so,” said Ferris, not caring to have Mrs. Vervain treat him so much like a boy. “Even at twenty-six I found it pleasant to take a nap this afternoon. How does one stand it at seventeen, Miss Vervain?” he asked. “I haven’t felt the need of sleep,” replied Florida, indifferently, and he felt shelved, as an old fellow. He had an empty, frivolous visit, to his thinking. Mrs. Vervain asked if he had seen Don Ippolito, and wondered that the priest had not come about, all day. She told a long story, and at the end tapped herself on the mouth with her fan to punish a yawn. Ferris rose to go. Mrs. Vervain wondered again in the same words why Don Ippolito had not been near them all day. “Because he’s a wise man,” said Ferris with bitterness, “and knows when to time his visits.” Mrs. Vervain did not notice his bitterness, but something made Florida follow him to the outer door. “Why, it’s moonlight!” she exclaimed; and she glanced at him as though she had some purpose of atonement in her mind. But he would not have it. “Yes, there’s a moon,” he said moodily. “Good-night.” “Good night,” answered Florida, and she impulsively offered him her hand. He thought that it shook in his, but it was probably the agitation of his own nerves.