"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 beautiful 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 analysis, 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
