Charlie stood by the mantel in Patty's room, in such an attitude as he imagined that Everett might take, under similar circumstances, and he was trying to look troubled. It was an imitation mantel by which he stood, being no more than a marble slab set upon iron brackets; for the real mantel, of wood, which had surrounded a real fireplace of generous proportions, had been removed when the fireplace had been bricked up and a register inserted. That register, of the regulation black, now stared at Miss Patty as she sat facing Charlie, and it emitted a thin column of faintly warm air. Altogether, it was a poor substitute for a fire and a gloomy thing to contemplate. Charlie's attitude, too, as has been intimated, was but an imitation. His trouble was no imitation, though, and his attempt to look troubled succeeded beyond his fondest hopes. Patty had been looking at him for some time, growing more anxious every minute. Charlie had said nothing at all, but had kept his eyes fixed upon the distance; upon such distance as he could get through Patty's window. That was not so very much, the distance being limited by the house across the street, perhaps sixty feet away. At intervals he sighed heavily, the time between sighs apparently--to Patty, at least, his only hearer--apparently occupied by equally heavy thinking. At last Patty could stand it no longer. "What is it, Charlie, dear?" she asked in a voice which trembled a little. "What is the matter, dear boy?" Charlie forced a smile, his frown disappeared for an instant, and he brought his gaze back, with a great effort, a superhuman effort, to things near at hand: eventually to Patty herself. "Oh, nothing," he said gently. "Nothing at all." And he resumed his gazing at the front of that house, sixty feet away, and his frowning and his sighing and his heavy thinking. Patty was silent for some minutes. "Won't you tell me?" she asked then. "I am sure there must be something which troubles you. You know you can count on my sympathy." Charlie went through the same process as before. It took time. "What did you say?" he said absently, when his look had, at last, come down to Patty. "Sympathy? I'm afraid that won't do me much good." He smiled; a smile that was meant to be pitiful. "But, no. There's nothing the matter. Nothing at all, I assure you. It's all my own fault anyway; my misfortune, rather," he added, so low that Patty barely heard, and she thought that the words were not meant for her ears. That was exactly in accordance with Charlie's intention. "Charlie!" she cried. "Charlie! You've got to tell me. I heard those last words which you didn't mean me to hear. Now, you've got to tell me." Her voice trembled more than ever. Charlie could not seem to resist this plea. He looked at her pityingly, and he drew a long breath.