"Dearie!" Her mother would have kissed her,
but Alice drew away.

"Oh, I don't mean-----" She laughed nervously.
"I wasn't meaning to tell you I'm engaged, mama.
We're not. I mean--oh! things seem pretty beauti-
ful in spite of all I've done to spoil 'em."

"You?" Mrs. Adams cried, incredulously. "What
have you done to spoil anything?"

"Little things," Alice said. "A thousand little
silly--oh, what's the use? He's so honestly what he is
--just simple and good and intelligent--I feel a tricky
mess beside him! I don't see why he likes me; and
sometimes I'm afraid he wouldn't if he knew me."

"He'd just worship you," said the fond mother.
"And the more he knew you, the more he'd worship
you."

Alice shook her head. "He's not the worshiping
kind. Not like that at all. He's more-----"

But Mrs. Adams was not interested in this analy-
sis, and she interrupted briskly, "Of course it's time
your father and I showed some interest in him. I
was just saying I actually don't believe he's ever been
inside the house."

"No," Alice said, musingly; "that's true: I don't
believe he has. Except when we've walked in the

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