She ascended the stairs to Nannie’s room. John followed her almost immediately, but remained in the hall outside the door. “What is the matter, Mother?” Lucy inquired, approaching the bed where Nannie lay in an abandon of weeping, her face hidden by the pillows. “Oh, go away! Go away!” cried Mrs. Merwent, breaking into a fresh paroxysm of sobs. “Now, Mother, don’t act this way.” Lucy spoke as to a child. “Tell me what it is you’re crying about.” “Oh, Lucy, is it--oh, it was John--oh, I can’t----” she moaned. “What did he do?” insisted Lucy. “If you mean what he said at dinner, I don’t see anything to get into this state over.” “It wasn’t that alone. It was when he came home. O-oh----” and Nannie lamented afresh. “Mother,” ordered Lucy impatiently, seizing Mrs. Merwent’s shoulder as though with intent to shake her, “either stop crying or tell what you are crying about. You’ll drive everybody crazy. John is half distracted already, and nobody can do anything for you while you act like this.” Nannie continued to weep, but less violently. “Tell us what it is so we can do something, and let John go down and eat his dinner.” “Is he upstairs?” inquired Nannie, glancing at the door. “Yes, of course. He’s standing outside in the hall.” Nannie redoubled her sobs and wails. “Well, if you intend to keep on like this, I am going,” threatened Lucy, losing her temper. “Oh, don’t go, Lucy! Please don’t go!” moaned Nannie. “Well, then, stop acting as though you were dying, and say what you’re crying about.” “Oh, you are so cruel,” sighed Nannie. “Very well. I’m going.” Lucy moved toward the door. “Come back! Come--back--and I--will tell----” Nannie entreated brokenly. “Well?” Lucy returned to the bed. Nannie seized her hand. “It was when--he--came home. I--went to meet--him--and he--he was so cold and cross with me! I have just written to Professor Walsh--and told him--I couldn’t go--back to Russellville yet--and now--John--makes me feel like I ought--to have gone right away. O-oh!” and a fresh fit of weeping began. “What did John say?” “Why--why he--he hardly answered me--and--and--o-oh what have I done?” she wailed again in a storm of sobbing. “I’m sure you misunderstood him, Mother. He was probably worried and tired. John is human like the rest of us, and you are foolish to make a mountain out of a mole hill.” “No, I didn’t misunderstand him, Lucy,” persisted Mrs. Merwent, forgetting to cry. “He has _never_ spoken to me in that way before. Something has happened to make him hate me.” Lucy smiled in spite of herself. “Well, let’s not have any more tragic scenes over it. It’s doubtless something very simple, and I’ll speak to him about it. Come on down and finish your dinner.” “Oh, I couldn’t see him like this. I don’t care for any dinner.” Nannie sat up in bed and reached for the hand mirror which lay on her dressing table. “I’ll send you up some then.”