"Do you think I'd better go in?" he asked, hesitating. "There's no getting out of it without making her feel neglected, and perhaps your visit may divert her thoughts. I'm sure I don't see what she has left to say on the subject." "All right, I'll go," he said cheerfully; "but for heaven's sake, help me drum up some fresh topics." Mrs. Blake was sitting up in bed, sipping a glass of port wine, and at Christopher's step she turned her groping gaze helplessly in his direction. "What a heavy tramp you have, my son; you must be almost as large as your father." Crossing the room as lightly as his rude boots permitted, Christopher stooped to kiss the cheek she held toward him. The old lady had wasted gradually to the shadow of herself, and the firelight from the hearth shone through the unearthly pallor of her face and hands. Her beautiful white hair was still arranged, over a high cushion, in an elaborate fashion, and her gown of fine embroidered linen was pinned together with a delicate cameo brooch. "I have been talking very seriously to Lila," she began at once, as he sat down by the bedside. "My age is great, you know, and it is hardly probable that the good Lord will see fit to leave me much longer to enjoy the pleasures of this world. Now, what troubles me more than all else is that I am to die feeling that the family will pass utterly away. Is it possible that both Lila and yourself persist in your absurd and selfish determination to remain unmarried?" "Oh, mother! mother!" groaned Lila from the fireplace. "You needn't interrupt me, Lila; you know quite well that a family is looked at askance when all of its members remain single. Surely one old maid--and I am quite reconciled to poor Cynthia's spinsterhood--is enough to leaven things, as your father used to say--" Her memory slipped from her for a moment; she caught at it painfully, and a peevish expression crossed her face. "What was I saying, Lila? I grow so forgetful." "About father, dear."