She did not come in till Henry had waited some time in the parlour, and then gave him her hand in a very lifeless way. She said she had a bad head-ache, and seemed disposed to leave the talking to him. He spoke of the picnic, but she rather sharply remarked that it was so long ago that she had forgotten all about it. It did seem very long ago to her, but to him it was very fresh. This cool ignoring of all that had happened that day in modifying their relations at one blow knocked the bottom out of all his thinking for the past week, and left him, as it were, all in the air. While he felt that the moment was not propitious for pursuing that topic, he could not for the moment turn his mind to anything else, and, as for Madeline, it appeared to be a matter of entire indifference to her whether anything further was said on any subject. Finally, he remarked, with an effort to which the result may appear disproportionate-- "Mr. Taylor has been making quite extensive alterations on his house, hasn't he?" "I should think you ought to know, if any one. You pass his house every day," was her response. "Why, of course I know," he said, staring at her. "So I thought, but you said 'hasn't he?' And naturally I presumed that you were not quite certain." She was evidently quizzing him, but her face was inscrutable. She looked only as if patiently and rather wearily explaining a misunderstanding. As she played with her fan, she had an unmistakable expression of being slightly bored. "Madeline, do you know what I should say was the matter with you if you were a man?" he said, desperately, yet trying to laugh. "Well, really"--and her eyes had a rather hard expression--"if you prefer gentlemen's society, you'd better seek it, instead of trying to get along by supposing me to be a gentleman." "It seems as if I couldn't say anything right," said Henry. "I think you do talk a little strangely," she admitted, with a faint smile. Her look was quite like that of an uncomplaining martyr. "What's the matter with you to-night, Madeline? Tell me, for God's sake!" he cried, overcome with sudden grief and alarm. "I thought I told you I had a headache, and I really wish you wouldn't use profane language," she replied, regarding him with lack-lustre eyes. "And that's all? It's only a headache?" "That's quite enough, I'm sure. Would you like me to have toothache besides?" "You know I didn't mean that." "Well, earache, then?" she said, wearily, allowing her head to rest back on the top of her chair, as if it were too much of an effort to hold it up, and half shutting her eyes. "Excuse me, I ought not to have kept you. I'll go now." "Don't hurry," she observed, languidly. "I hope you'll feel better in the morning." He offered her his hand, and she put hers in his for an instant, but withdrew it without returning his pressure, and he went away, sorely perplexed and bitterly disappointed.