"Well, you're not often so short of words, whatever may be the cause. Mr. Andrews, I beg you won't think ill of my niece's intelligence. She is generally able to express herself. You have read ever so many of Balzac's books aloud to me, you must know their names." "I don't recall them at this moment," returned Missy, using her pencil to make a little fiend turning a somersault, on the margin of the evening paper which lay beside her. "Can't you help me, Mr. Andrews," said Miss Varian, a little tartly. "I, oh, certainly," said Mr. Andrews, recalling himself from what seemed a fit of absentmindedness. "Some of the names of Balzac's books. Let me see, 'César Birotteau,' 'Le Père Goriot'--" "Oh, I don't mean those. I've read all those, of course. I'd like some of the--well, some of the ones I wouldn't have been likely to have read, you know. Missy, there was one you were so horrified about, but you were fascinated too. Can't you think what it was? It occurs to me I'd like to try it again. You're not generally so stupid, or so prudish, whichever it may be." Missy's lips grew tight; she made another little fiend on the paper, before she trusted herself to answer. "Perhaps," she said, handing the card across the table to her aunt, "you had better leave it to Mr. Andrews and the librarian. Maybe between them they can find something that will please you." "Well, Mr. Andrews, then I'll _have_ to leave it to you. And if you bring me something that I have read before, it will be Missy's fault, and you'll have to hold her responsible for it." "I hope I shall be able to suit you; but in any case, I have quite a lot of French books at the house, which are at your service." "But, you see, my maid can't read French, and so I have to have translations." "Oh, I forgot. Well, perhaps, Miss Rothermel, some of them might suit you, if you'd let me send them in to you." "You are very kind," said Missy. "But I have my reading laid out for two months to come, and it would be impossible for me to take up anything more." Mr. Andrews bowed, and got up to take his leave. Miss Varian gave him the card and her hand too, and said an effusive and very neighborly good-night. Missy half rose, and bent her head, but did not offer to put out her hand. "The caprices and the tempers of women," he thought, as he went home under the big trees and looked back at the friendly or unfriendly lights gleaming from the library window. "Their caprices and their tempers and their tongues!"