At ten she went up to her workroom, lighted the gas, and took out her tools. For two hours she sewed leaves on her frame, working as if automatically. Her gaze was intent; one would have said that she was completely absorbed in her task. Slowly the sheets piled, one on another, each stitched to the back with deft strokes. Finally the whole volume was completed. She bound up the loose threads and put the book away. Then she heated her irons, got out her gold-leaf and spent an hour tooling a calf cover, pressing in roses and circles and stipples while her lips were sternly set. She arose, then, and looked out into the night... She undressed at last and went to bed. Long after midnight there was a sound below of her father coming in. His footsteps went to and fro for a time, then they came up-stairs. His door was closed softly. There was no sound, now, but the ticking of her little clock, and, occasionally, the far-away echo of a steamer’s whistle, and the dreary note of the siren. She tossed uneasily. The clock struck one, two, three, four. Then the wind began to sing round the corner of the house as the gale rose. The noise was soothingly monotonous, hypnotic, anesthetic... At breakfast she was cool, serene, quiet, showing no traces of her emotion. She talked with her father, laughed with him, as usual, flying from one topic to another, never serious. As he got up to go, she remarked: "Father, I think I’ll go up to Sacramento to visit Mrs. Maxwell at Lonely a few days. I’ve put it off so long, and she’s been after me again to come. She’s up there all alone." "All right, Cly. I saw her down-town, day before yesterday, and she told me she was going to ask you." Clytie frowned. "You did? Why didn’t you tell me?" She looked at him for a moment curiously. He seemed to wish to evade her question. Then she asked, with emphasis, "Did you ask her to invite me?" Mr. Payson hesitated. "Why, I told her that you would probably accept—" She bit her lip, still frowning. "I understand. On account of Mr. Granthope, I presume?" "Well, I thought it would be just as well for you to take a little vacation." Clytie said nothing. Mr. Payson lingered, ill at ease in the face of her implications. At last he looked at her over his spectacles and said petulantly: "I’ve been surprised at you, Cly, really. I have been considerably worried, as well. I’m afraid you’ve compromised yourself seriously by having been seen so much with Granthope. I haven’t spoken of it, before, because I had already said all I could to you. You knew very well what my wishes were in the matter and it seems you’ve seen fit to disregard them." Clytie still kept silent, listening to him calmly. He had worked himself up by his own words to an irascible pitch, but her non-resistance balked his temper, and it oozed away, as he continued.