It hardly seems time, yet--to me." Isabel made no response, and for a time the only sound upon the dark veranda was the creaking of the wicker rocking-chair in which Fanny sat--a creaking which seemed to denote content and placidity on the part of the chair's occupant, though at this juncture a series of human shrieks could have been little more eloquent of emotional disturbance.
However, the creaking gave its hearer one great advantage: it could be ignored.
"Have you given up smoking, George ?" Isabel asked presently.
"No." "I hoped perhaps you had, because you've not smoked since dinner.

We shan't mind if you care to." "No, thanks." There was silence again, except for the creaking of the rocking-chair; then a low, clear whistle, singularly musical, was heard softly rendering an old air from "Fra Diavolo." The creaking stopped.
"Is that you, George ?" Fanny asked abruptly.
"Is that me what ?" "Whistling 'On Yonder Rock Reclining' ?" "It's I," said Isabel.
"Oh," Fanny said dryly.
"Does it disturb you ?" "Not at all.

I had an idea George was depressed about something, and merely wondered if he could be making such a cheerful sound." And Fanny resumed her creaking.
"Is she right, George ?" his mother asked quickly, leaning forward in her chair to peer at him through the dusk.

"You didn't eat a very hearty dinner, but I thought it was probably because of the warm weather.

Are you troubled about anything ?" "No!" he said angrily.
"That's good.