"You surely don’t include me," said Florence. "No, not you, Florence, but all the men about the house. Why, I went up to John, just a while ago, and I’ll be hanged if he didn’t snap at me like a turtle—told me to get out of his office. Shall I tell you what he said? He said that last night he went to hell and was still there. There’s something wrong with him, as sure as you live." Howard turned away and began to walk up and down the room. "There it is again," said he. "I no sooner convince myself that it might have been a mere whim when something comes up to assure me that it is something worse. And the look he gave me, Florence. It hurts me." He walked toward the door. Florence asked him if he were going to his father. He turned and stood for a moment in silence. "No, I am going down town. I don’t feel right. I am hurt. But don’t say anything to him, please. I am going to wait and see what comes of it. And please don’t say anything to mother." He took his leave, and Florence went to the window and looked after him as he passed down the street. She spoke to William. "I wonder what the trouble is," she said. "I don’t know," William replied, ruffling his brow, "but as for that preacher—the first thing he knows, I won’t let him come here. John has insisted on his dropping in at any time, because he used to know his father, but I’ll attend to that. Why does a great, strong fellow as he is want to throw away his time? Why doesn’t he get to work?" He sat down and, looking toward the piano, asked Florence to play something. "I’d like a tune quick and high-stepping," he said. She told him that she was in no humor. "In that event," he insisted, "you might play the Maiden’s Prayer." "Not now, Uncle William. Here’s Agnes. She’ll play for you." "No, I won’t," said Agnes, coming into the room. Florence expected the old fellow to snort his displeasure at so flat a refusal, but he did not. He bowed to her and said: "Now, that’s the way to talk. I like to have a woman come right out and say what she means. Well," he added, getting up, "I am not in your plot, anyway, so I’ll bid you good morning." As soon as William was gone, Agnes went to the piano, seated herself on the stool and began to ripple on the keys. "There are times when we feel like dabbling in water but don’t want to swim," she said. "And you are dabbling now," Florence spoke up. "Only dabbling. Oh, I forgot; your dressmaker is out there, and I came in to tell you." "I’m glad you didn’t forget it entirely. Oh, and I must tell you something. Brother says that Mr. Goyle is smitten with you." Agnes, still rippling, turned half way round, sniffed and turned back. "I hate him so hard that it’s almost second cousin to love," she declared. "Don’t let it be any closer kin, Agnes. There is always danger in a first cousin." Agnes, still rippling, sniffed contemptuously. "He’s been following me around all the morning. How I love to hate him."