"Because those long winter evenings are sometimes very dull, you know!" she went on--"And I'm afraid I'm not very good company when I'm at work mending the lace--I have to take all my stitches so carefully that I dare not talk much lest I make a false knot." He smiled. "_You_ make a false knot!" he said--"You couldn't do it, if you tried! You'll never make a false knot--never!"--and his voice sank to an almost inaudible murmur--"Neither in your lace nor in your life!" She looked at him a little anxiously. "Are you tired, David?" "No, my dear! Not tired--only thinking!" "Well, you mustn't think too much,"--she said--"Thinking is weary work, sometimes!" He raised his eyes and looked at her steadily. "Mr. Reay was very frank and open in telling us all about himself, wasn't he, Mary?" "Oh yes!" and she laughed--"But I think he is one of those men who couldn't possibly be anything else but frank and open." "Oh, you do?" "Yes." "Don't you sometimes wonder,"--went on Helmsley slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the fire--"why _I_ haven't told you all about myself?" She met his eyes with a candid smile. "No--I haven't thought about it!" she said. "Why haven't you thought about it?" he persisted. She laughed outright. "Simply because I haven't! That's all!" "Mary,"--he said, seriously--"You know I was not your 'father's friend'! You know I never saw your father!" The smile still lingered in her eyes. "Yes--I know that!" "And yet you never ask me to give an account of myself!" She thought he was worrying his mind needlessly, and bending over him took his hand in hers. "No, David, I never ask impertinent questions!" she said--"I don't want to know anything more about you than you choose to tell. You seem to me like my dear father--not quite so strong as he was, perhaps--but I have taken care of you for so many weeks, that I almost feel as if you belonged to me! And I want to take care of you still, because I know you _must_ be taken care of. And I'm so well accustomed to you now that I shouldn't like to lose you, David--I shouldn't really! Because you've been so patient and gentle and grateful for the little I have been able to do for you, that I've got fond of you, David! Yes!--actually fond of you! What do you say to that?" "Say to it!" he murmured, pressing the hand he held. "I don't know what to say to it, Mary!--except--God bless you!" She was silent a minute--then she went on in a cheerfully rallying tone-- "So I don't want to know anything about you, you see! Now, as to Mr. Reay----" "Ah, yes!" and Helmsley gave her a quick observant glance which she herself did not notice--"What about Mr. Reay?" "Well it would be nice if we could cheer him up a little and make him bear his poor and lonely life more easily. Wouldn't it?" "Cheer him up a little and make him bear his poor and lonely life more easily!" repeated Helmsley, slowly, "Yes. And do you think we can do that, Mary?"