“Excitement?” echoed his mother.  “Cold grapery, I dare say, and very silly of you, Dan; but there’s no occasion for excitement, as if we were strangers.  Sit down in that chair, my dear.  And, Dan, you go round to the other side of the bed; I want Alice all to myself.  I saw your photograph a week ago, and I’ve thought about you for ages since, and wondered whether you would approve of your old friend.”

“Oh yes,” whispered the girl, suppressing a tremor; and Dan’s eyes were suffused with grateful tears at his mother’s graciousness.

Alice’s reticence seemed to please the invalid.  “I hope you’ll like all your old friends here; you’ve begun with the worst among us, but perhaps you like him the best because he is the worst; I do.”

“You may believe just half of that, Alice,” cried Dan.

“Then believe the best half, or the half you like best,” said Mrs. Mavering.  “There must be something good in him if you like him.  Have they welcomed you home, my dear?”

“We’ve all made a stagger at it,” said Dan, while Alice was faltering over the words which were so slow to come.

“Don’t try to answer my formal stupidities.  You are welcome, and that’s enough, and more than enough of speeches.  Did you have a comfortable journey up?”

“Oh, very.”

“Was it cold?”

“Not at all.  The cars were very hot.”

“Have you had any snow yet at Boston?”

“No, none at all yet.”

“Now I feel that we’re talking sense.  I hope you found everything in your room?  I can’t look after things as I would like, and so I inquire.”

“There’s everything,” said Alice.  “We’re very comfortable.”

“I’m very glad.  I had Dan look, he’s my housekeeper; he understands me better than my girls; he’s like me, more.  That’s what makes us so fond of each other; it’s a kind of personal vanity.  But he has his good points, Dan has.  He’s very amiable, and I was too, at his age—­and till I came here.  But I’m not going to tell you of his good points; I dare say you’ve found them out.  I’ll tell you about his bad ones.  He says you’re very serious.  Are you?” She pressed the girl’s hand, which she had kept in hers, and regarded her keenly.

Alice dropped her eyes at the odd question.  “I don’t know,” she faltered.  “Sometimes.”

“Well, that’s good.  Dan’s frivolous.”

“Oh, sometimes—­only sometimes!” he interposed.

“He’s frivolous, and he’s very light-minded; but he’s none the worse for that.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Dan; and Alice, still puzzled, laughed provisionally.

“No; I want you to understand that.  He’s light-hearted too, and that’s a great thing in this world.  If you’re serious you’ll be apt to be heavyhearted, and then you’ll find Dan of use.  And I hope he’ll know how, to turn your seriousness to account too, he needs something to keep him down—­to keep him from blowing away.  Yes, it’s very well for people to be opposites.  Only they must understand each other, If they do that, then they get along.  Light-heartedness or heavy-heartedness comes to the same thing if they know how to use it for each other.  You see, I’ve got to be a great philosopher lying here; nobody dares contradict me or interrupt me when I’m constructing my theories, and so I get them perfect.”