It seemed to him that no one ever had such small white hands or had so wonderfully manipulated tea cups and copper kettles. Elise never asked people twice what their tastes were; she persistently studied tastes, and she never forgot them. If she had had an analytical mind she would have known that there was nothing she enjoyed so much as supplying the wants of others, and that nothing so dismayed her as when those wants conflicted. “I had to see Mr. Brett before I saw you,” John repeated. He seemed unable to take his eyes off Elise’s face, or to say anything which didn’t explain why he hadn’t been there before. “Why certainly,” agreed Elise, noting with disapproval but without reproof that John was neglecting his tea. “I know it’s the greatest comfort to Papa your going up to town and seeing people for him, it saves him so much fatigue, and he relies so on your judgment. He says you’re the only man who doesn’t have to tell him all you said yourself in reply to what the other people said.” Elise broke off under John’s supplicating eyes: he was looking at her as if he wanted more than she was giving him, more than either her attention or his tea. Elise’s breath came quickly, and the heavy row of pink pearls round her small white throat rose and fell spasmodically. “When I first saw you,” said John irrelevantly, “you were wearing those pearls, and you had your hair up for the first time.” Elise smiled faintly. “I remember,” she said. “Papa had just given them to me because Hermione said I ought only to wear white, and I wanted to wear pink. Of course Hermione was right—in America that summer girls were only wearing white; but Papa said it didn’t matter what the other girls wore. You could have lilies and pinks in the same garden without any one’s throat being cut. So he gave me these. And you said if I were an English girl and only sixteen years old I’d still be a flapper, and I didn’t know what a flapper was, but I do now. I know lots of English things.” “Do you like England?” asked John earnestly, as if it were a personal question. “Does it seem like home to you now, Elise?” She hesitated a moment, then she said gently, “I should think any country seems like home when the people you love are in it. You see what I like best is being with the people I like as long as I know which to attend to first.” Elise gave the ghost of a sigh, then she smiled because she did not want John to know that she had voiced her only grief. She didn’t want any one to be inconvenienced by knowing that she had a grief at all. There are many people who love to spare others pain and enjoy carrying their brothers’ burdens; but they do not mind an audience. Elise never wanted any one to know that she was bearing anything. “Elise,” said John firmly, “do you know what I want? I want you to attend to me first?”