Why did this family somehow make him feel inferior? The way she sat there and looked at him so calmly! Still more the way she narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her lips, as if rather malicious thoughts were rising in her soul! Her hair, as is the way of fine, soft, almost indigo-colored hair, was already showing threads of silver; her whole face and figure thinner than he had remembered. But a striking woman still—with wonderful eyes! Her dress—Felix had scanned many a crank in his day—was not so alarming as it had once seemed to Clara; its coarse-woven, deep-blue linen and needle-worked yoke were pleasing to him, and he could hardly take his gaze from the kingfisher-blue band or fillet that she wore round that silver-threaded black hair. He began by giving her Clara's note, the wording of which he had himself dictated: “DEAR KIRSTEEN: “Though we have not seen each other for so long, I am sure you will forgive my writing. It would give us so much pleasure if you and the two children would come over for a night or two while Felix and his young folk are staying with us. It is no use, I fear, to ask Tod; but of course if he would come, too, both Stanley and myself would be delighted. “Yours cordially, “CLARA FREELAND.” She read it, handed it to Tod, who also read it and handed it to Felix. Nobody said anything. It was so altogether simple and friendly a note that Felix felt pleased with it, thinking: 'I expressed that well!' Then Tod said: “Go ahead, old man! You've got something to say about the youngsters, haven't you?” How on earth did he know that? But then Tod HAD a sort of queer prescience. “Well,” he brought out with an effort, “don't you think it's a pity to embroil your young people in village troubles? We've been hearing from Stanley—” Kirsteen interrupted in her calm, staccato voice with just the faintest lisp: “Stanley would not understand.” She had put her arm through Tod's, but never removed her eyes from her brother-in-law's face. “Possibly,” said Felix, “but you must remember that Stanley, John, and myself represent ordinary—what shall we say—level-headed opinion.” “With which we have nothing in common, I'm afraid.” Felix glanced from her to Tod. The fellow had his head on one side and seemed listening to something in the distance. And Felix felt a certain irritation. “It's all very well,” he said, “but I think you really have got to look at your children's future from a larger point of view. You don't surely want them to fly out against things before they've had a chance to see life for themselves.” She answered: “The children know more of life than most young people. They've seen it close to, they've seen its realities. They know what the tyranny of the countryside means.” “Yes, yes,” said Felix, “but youth is youth.” “They are not too young to know and feel the truth.” Felix was impressed. How those narrowing eyes shone! What conviction in that faintly lisping voice!