The Harvard man's stilted manner left him. He set down his cup hastily. "Oh, my dear!" he exclaimed. "I was tactless! Forgive me!" Again he looked about the room and back at Lydia's face above the meager dress fashioned the year before from a cheap remnant. Could a mother's death, he wondered, have put the look into her eyes and lips he had often surprised there. "I suppose," he said finally, "that one might explain you, eventually, if one had the privilege of knowing you long enough, I--" Adam chose this moment to yelp at the dining-room door which was barely ajar. "Adam, be quiet!" roared Amos. "Liz, did you see my carpet slippers anywhere?" he added in a lower voice. "I brought you a book," said Willis. "Browning's Dramatic Lyrics." "I'd like to read them," Lydia spoke eagerly, with one ear on the dining-room. Amos yawned loudly. "Did you wind the clock, Lizzie? No? Well, I will!" Another loud yawn and Amos was heard to begin on the mechanism of the huge old wall clock which wound with a sound like an old-fashioned chain pump. Lydia set her teeth in misery. "Yes, you must add Browning to your background," said the Harvard man, appearing undisturbed by the sounds in the next room. "Browning is difficult at times but--" He was interrupted by a great clattering in the dining-room. "Lizzie!" roared Amos. "Come here and pull this chair off of me. The next time Lydia varnishes anything--" There was the sound of Lizzie pounding across the floor. The dining-room door was banged and after that the murmur of Lizzie's voice and subdued roars from Amos. Lydia looked at Willis in an agony of embarrassment. "Well," he said, rising, "it's quite a walk back to the trolley. Perhaps I'd better be going." Lydia rose with alacrity. "I'm--I'm glad you like the mahogany," she said awkwardly. "Er--yes. So am I," returned Willis, making for the door as Amos groaned again. "Good night, Miss Dudley." "Good night," said Lydia, and closing the door with a gasp of relief she dashed for the dining-room. "Just when I'm trying to be refined and lady-like!" she wailed. Then she stopped. "Lydia," roared Amos, "if you ever touch my chair again! Look at my shirt and pants!" Lydia looked and from these to the chair, denuded of the two coats of varnish. "But you knew it wasn't dry," she protested. "How could I remember?" cried Amos. "I just sat down a minute to put on my slippers you'd hid." "I don't see why you couldn't have been quiet about it," Lydia half sobbed. "We were having such a nice time and all of a sudden it sounded like an Irish wake out here. It embarrassed Professor Willis so he went right home and I know he'll never come back." "I should hope he wouldn't," retorted Amos. "Of course, what a college professor thinks is more important than my comfort. Why, that varnish went through my shirt to my skin. Liz, what are you laughing at?"