Though it was still bright out-of-doors the dining-table was lighted by a red-shaded swinging lamp. To be sure the shade was only of paper, but it made none the less a cheerful glow. When Counsell came into the room his good manners failed him; he stopped short and stared at Pen in silence. Pen could not look at him. She said to herself: "He's amused at my silliness; dressing up in these old rags!" At the table they gave Pendleton full sway and it improved his humor. Counsell had discovered that it pleased Pen best to have him encourage her father. Counsell's conversation with her was limited to compliments on the wonderful eats. Pen received it with her little twisted smile. That was the way she was. She knew he meant it, but it hurt--how it hurt! Because it signified nothing. Nothing would come of it. A long course of self-discipline had taught Pen never to build on the prospect of happiness, that thereby she might be saved a crushing disappointment when happiness failed to materialize. At the conclusion of the meal Counsell got his reward when it appeared that Pendleton, owing to the time he had wasted on the river, still had his chores to do about the place. He departed for the barn. Aunt Maria Garner waddled back and forth, clearing the table and rolling her eyes at the guest. She was not a well-trained servant. "Shall we go outside?" suggested Counsell. "Mosquitoes!" said Pen smiling. She led the way into the great dim drawing-rooms on the other side of the hall. The only illumination was given by a piano lamp with a yellow paper shade standing beside an old ebony upright. "You play?" asked Counsell. "Not for you," said Pen promptly. "You know too much." "Anyway, I'd rather have you talk to me," he said. "We haven't started to get acquainted yet." Pen's inner voice cried: "What's the use? What's the use?" Her little painful smile tantalized him. He said involuntarily: "You mock at everything I say." "Not at you," said Pen. "At myself!" "I don't understand you," he complained. "And you have known so many girls!" said Pen, drawing down the corners of her lips. "Yes," he said. "But never one like you. In town they seem to be cut out pretty much to a pattern. Some well cut, some badly. But all the same pattern." Pen thought: "He's a good-natured sort. He thinks I expect to hear this sort of thing."