"Maybe it was the furniture--or mama's vases that upset you.

Or was it mama herself--or papa ?" "Nothing 'upset' me." At that she uttered a monosyllable of doubting laughter.

"I wonder why you say that." "Because it's so." "No.

It's because you're too kind, or too conscientious, or too embarrassed--anyhow too something--to tell me." She leaned forward, elbows on knees and chin in hands, in the reflective attitude she knew how to make graceful.

"I have a feeling that you're not going to tell me," she said, slowly.