"I forgot. Of course you don't. You do live there, don't you? But that isn't all. Flora, poor soul, went into a restaurant the other day and ordered roast turkey, and now she's worrying for fear the money won't come and justify her extravagance. Mellicent, with implicit faith that the hundred thousand is coming wants to wear her best frocks every day. And, as if she were not already quite excited enough, young Pennock has very obviously begun to sit up and take notice."

"You don't mean he is trying to come back—so soon!" disbelieved Mr. Smith.

"Well, he's evidently caught the glitter of the gold from afar," smiled Miss Maggie. "At all events, he's taking notice."

"And—Miss Mellicent?" There was a note of anxiety in Mr. Smith's voice.

"Doesn't see him, APPARENTLY. But she comes and tells me his every last move (and he's making quite a number of them just now!), so I think she does see—a little."

"The young rascal! But she doesn't—care?"

"I think not—really. She's just excited now, as any young girl would be; and I'm afraid she's taking a little wicked pleasure in—not seeing him."

"Humph! I can imagine it," chuckled Mr. Smith.

"But it's all bad—this delay," chafed Miss Maggie again. "Don't you see? It's neither one thing nor another. That's why I do wish that lawyer would come, if he's coming."

"I reckon he'll be here before long," murmured Mr. Smith, with an elaborately casual air. "But—I wish you were coming in on the deal." His kindly eyes were gazing straight into her face now.

She shook her head.

"I'm a Duff, not a Blaisdell—except when they want—" She bit her lip. A confused red suffused her face. "I mean, I'm not a Blaisdell at all," she finished hastily.

"Humph! That's exactly it!" Mr. Smith was sitting energetically erect. "You're not a Blaisdell—except when they want something of you!"

"Oh PLEASE, I didn't mean to say—I DIDN'T say—THAT," cried Miss Maggie, in very genuine distress.

"No, I know you didn't, but I did," flared the man. "Miss Maggie, it's a downright shame—the way they impose on you sometimes."

"Nonsense! I like to have them—I mean, I like to do what I can for them," she corrected hastily, laughing in spite of herself.

"You like to get all tired out, I suppose."

"I get rested—afterward."

"And it doesn't matter, anyway, of course," he gibed.

"Not a bit," she smiled.

"Yes, I suspected that." Mr. Smith was still sitting erect, still speaking with grim terseness. "But let me tell you right here and now that I don't approve of that doctrine of yours."

"'Doctrine'?"

"That 'It-doesn't-matter' doctrine of yours. I tell you it's very pernicious—very! I don't approve of it at all."

There was a moment's silence.

"No?" Miss Maggie said then, demurely. "Oh, well—it doesn't matter— if you don't."