“I ought to have thought of that, but I didn’t.  I wish I had gone to you first, Mrs. Pasmer.  Somehow it seems to me as if I were very young and inexperienced; I didn’t use to feel so.  I wish you were always on hand to advise me, Mrs. Pasmer.”  Dan hung his head, and his face, usually so gay, was blotted with gloom.

“Will you take my advice now?” asked Mrs. Pasmer.

“Indeed I will!” cried the young fellow, lifting his head.  “What is it?”

“See Alice about this.”

Dan jumped to his feet, and the sunshine broke out over his face again.  “Mrs. Pasmer, I promised to take your advice, and I’ll do it.  I will see her.  But how?  Where?  Let me have your advice on that point too.”

They began to laugh together, and Dan was at once inexpressibly happy. 
Those two light natures thoroughly comprehended each other.

Mrs. Pasmer had proposed his seeing Alice with due seriousness, but now she had a longing to let herself go; she felt all the pleasure that other people felt in doing Dan Mavering a pleasure, and something more, because he was so perfectly intelligible to her.  She let herself go.

“You might stay to breakfast.”

“Mrs. Pasmer, I will—­I will do that too.  I’m awfully hungry, and I put myself in your hands.”

“Let me see,” said Mrs. Pasmer thoughtfully, “how it can be contrived.”

“Yes;” said Mavering, ready for a panic.  “How?  She wouldn’t stand a surprise?”

“No; I had thought of that.”

“No behind-a-screen or next-room business?”

“No,” said Mrs. Pasmer, with a light sigh.  “Alice is peculiar.  I’m afraid she wouldn’t like it.”

“Isn’t there any little ruse she would like?”

“I can’t think of any.  Perhaps I’d better go and tell her you’re here and wish to see her.”

“Do you think you’d better?” asked Dan doubtfully.  “Perhaps she won’t come.”

“She will come,” said Mrs. Pasmer confidently.

She did not say that she thought Alice would be curious to know why he had come, and that she was too just to condemn him unheard.

But she was right about the main point.  Alice came, and Dan could see with his own weary eyes that she had not slept either.

She stopped just inside the portiere, and waited for him to speak.  But he could not, though a smile from his sense of the absurdity of their seriousness hovered about his lips.  His first impulse was to rush upon her and catch her in his arms, and perhaps this might have been well, but the moment for it passed, and then it became impossible.

“Well?” she said at last, lifting her head, and looking at him with impassioned solemnity.  “You wished to see me?  I hoped you wouldn’t.  It would have spared me something.  But perhaps I had no right to your forbearance.”

“Alice, how can you say such things to me?” asked the young fellow, deeply hurt.

She responded to his tone.  “I’m sorry if it wounds you.  But I only mean what I say.”