“To ask where you _were_,” Mrs. Dodge said, explosively. “Each of ’em kept me about fifteen minutes.” “That was very inconsiderate,” Lily observed. “Especially as I hadn’t absolutely promised either of ’em I’d go. I only said to call up about three and _probably_ I would. I don’t think they ought to have kept you so——” “That isn’t what I’m complaining of,” her mother interrupted, grimly. “It was disagreeable, especially as I was unable to give either of them any information and they both seemed to think I could if they kept _at_ me long enough! It was trying, but it was bearable. What I refuse to have happen again, though, is what has been happening all the rest of the afternoon.” Lily proved herself strangely able to divine her mother’s meaning without further explanation. Pink at once became noticeable upon her cheeks. “Oh, goodness!” she said. “Price didn’t come _in_, did he?” “For two and one-half hours,” Mrs. Dodge replied, slowly and harshly. “For that length of time this afternoon I have been favoured with the society and conversation—the continuous conversation, I may say—of Mr. Price Gleason. I am strong enough to bear certain things, but not strong enough to bear certain other things, and I want to tell you that this is something you must never do to me again.” Lily sank into a chair, staring widely. “Oh, goodness!” she said. “When did he go?” “Not until about five minutes before you came in.” “What did he say?” “What didn’t he?” Mrs. Dodge returned. “He had time enough!” Upon this Lily’s expression, grown grave, became tenderly compassionate. “Was he—was he _terribly_ hurt with me, Mamma?” “Well, I shouldn’t say so—no. No, I don’t think he was just what one might call stricken. At first he seemed rather depressed—but not for long. I don’t think that young man will ever be much depressed about anything while he has a listener. All he asks of life is an audience.” “He talks beautifully,” Lily said, with the dreamy look her mother knew so well. “Don’t you think he does, Mamma? What did he talk about?” “About nothing,” Mrs. Dodge answered cruelly. “I mean, of course, about himself.” “Mamma!” Lily cried, quickly, and her sensitive face showed the pain she felt. “That isn’t kind, and it isn’t fair!” “Isn’t it? I never in my life listened to such a conceited and unveracious rigmarole as that young man favoured me with this afternoon. I did everything a Christian woman could to show him I wanted him to go, but he never stopped. You _can’t_ interrupt him when he’s wound up like that, and he’s always wound up. He makes an oration of it; he stands up, gestures like an actor, and walks around and up and down when he tells you how he’s done all the great things he almost believes in himself when he’s talking about ’em. I never knew such a story-teller in my life!” “Mamma!” “I never did,” Mrs. Dodge said. “He told me he’d killed three men in Mexico.”