He kissed her, and put his arm around her; then withdrew it, reminding himself not to be a fool. Yet she was alluring! If only she would be sensible, there was no reason why things should not be as pleasant as ever. If she obliged him to pay the piper, Lloyd Pryor was coldly aware that things would never be pleasant again. "So many dreadful things have happened!" she burst out; but checked herself and asked about his journey; "and--and Alice?" "Oh, pleasant enough, rather chilly. She's well, thank you." And then they were at the door, and in the bustle of coming in, and taking off his coat, and saying "Hullo, David! Where's your sling?" disagreeable topics were postponed. But in the short twilight before the parlor fire, and at the supper-table, the easy commonplaces of conversation tingled with the consciousness of the inevitable reappearance of those same topics. Once, at the table, he looked at her with a frown. "What's the matter, Nelly? You look old! Have you been sick?" "Things have happened," she said with an effort; "I've been worried." "What things?" he said; but before she could reply, Sarah came in with hot waffles, and the subject was dropped. "You need more cinnamon with this sugar," Mr. Pryor said with annoyance. And Helena, flushing with anxiety, told the woman to add some cinnamon at once. "Oh, never mind now," he said.--"But you ought to look out for things like that," he added when Sarah had left the room. And Helena said quickly, that she would; she was so sorry! "Dr. Lavendar," David announced, "he won't let you say you don't like things. He says it ain't polite. But I don't like--" "Dry up! dry up!" Mr. Pryor said irritably; "Helena, this young man talks too much." Helena whispered to David to be quiet. She had already arranged with him that he was not to come into the parlor after supper, which was an agreeable surprise to him; "For, you know, I don't like your brother," he said, "nor neither does Danny." Helena was too absorbed to remonstrate; she did, however, remember to tell Mr. Pryor that David had asked if she was coming up to hear him say his prayers. "I told him I couldn't to-night; and what do you suppose he said? He said, 'Does God like ladies better than gentlemen? I do.'" It made him laugh, as she had hoped it would. "I fancy that is a reflection upon me," he said. "The young man has never liked me." And when he had clipped off the end of his cigar and struck a match under the mantelpiece, he added, "So you hear him say his prayers? I didn't know you were so religiously inclined." "I'm not religiously inclined; but, of course, one has to teach a child to say his prayers." "Oh, I don't object to religion," Mr. Pryor assured her; "in fact, I like it--" "In other people?" she interrupted gayly.