“Why, he oughtn’t to miss a day,” Lucy objected. “Very well, if you dislike my seeing him my last day here!” Nannie assumed her most aggrieved air. “Let him stay,” John ordered shortly. “All right,” acquiesced Lucy without further discussion. Nannie followed John to the front door where they held a whispered colloquy. When he had gone she went upstairs to begin her packing. “Lucy!” she called after a few minutes. Lucy came into the bedroom. “Will you help me fold these things? I can’t do _everything_ alone.” “Of course,” Lucy responded impassively, beginning to arrange the garments indicated. “Where do you want them put?” “Well, wait a minute. Give me time to turn around. Not that way, Lucy! If you’re going to mix things all up, you’d better leave it for me to do.” Mrs. Merwent’s tone showed increasing irritation. “I might have known you couldn’t bear to do anything for me. I ought to have learned that much this summer. I’ve learned several other things.” “Tell me how you want them done, and I’ll do my best to please you.” Lucy’s manner was still composed. “Oh, don’t try to be a martyr at this late hour, Lucy!” snapped Nannie. “It’s too transparent. You’ve gotten rid of me and so you can afford to be saintly about it. Your Mr. Sprague was very clever but I understand perfectly well now why you went to consult him.” “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” Lucy gazed blankly at her mother. “Oh, no! Of course you haven’t! You know a great deal better than I do. You needn’t lie to me.” Lucy seemed scarcely to heed. “Let’s not quarrel the last day we are together,” she said in a low voice. “No, ‘let’s not quarrel,’” mocked Nannie. “Let’s sit here and have you crow over me.” “How am I crowing over you?” Lucy inquired almost listlessly. “You know just as well as I do,” accused Mrs. Merwent. “If you think I haven’t seen through the scheme you and your Mr. Sprague have worked from the very beginning, you’re greatly mistaken. But let me tell you one thing, Lucy. You haven’t got as much to feel jubilant over as you think you have.” “I’m sure I _don’t_ know what you mean,” reiterated Lucy. “Well, you’ll see what I mean.” “You’re right that I have nothing to feel jubilant over.” Lucy lifted spiritless eyes to her mother’s face. Nannie turned away. The two women worked for some time in silence. “Here, you pack these wash things in the bottom of the other trunk. I want to go over my laces and see if they’re all here,” instructed Nannie at length. “I suppose Mr. Sprague will begin to come out here twice a week to spend the night again, as soon as I’ve left.” “Please don’t talk about Mr. Sprague,” requested Lucy dully, beginning the work her mother had ordered. Nannie’s expression was virtuous. “Yes! I should think you’d be ashamed to talk about him,” she remarked reprovingly. “I’m not ashamed of anything,” Lucy’s voice gained involuntary vehemence, “but if you intend talking like this I’m going out of the house.”