"Am I too grave for
the occasion?"
"You're always under orders to be cheerful," Luella broke in, "or at
least to explain the reason why."
"He can't explain," retorted her mother. "Mr. Knapp won't let him."
It struck me, on watching mother and daughter, that it was they who
were grave. Luella gave an occasional flash of brightness, but seemed
tired or depressed, while Mrs. Knapp appeared to struggle against some
insistent sorrow. But presently we found a subject in which Luella
roused her interest, and her bright mind and ready wit drove away the
fancy that had first assailed me. Then some caller claimed the
attention of Mrs. Knapp, and I was content to monopolize Luella's
conversation for the evening. At last I was constrained to go. Mrs.
Knapp was still busied in conversation with her visitor, and Luella
followed me once more into the hall.
Again her animation left her, and she was silent; and I, on my side,
could think of nothing to say. Then her deep gray eyes flashed upon me
a look that sent my pulses throbbing, an indefinable, pleading glance
that shook my soul.
"Can't you tell me--won't you tell me?" she said in a low tone that was
the complement of the silent speech of the eyes.
"I wish I could," I whispered.
"I know it must be right--it is right," she said in the same tone. "But
I wish that I might know. Will you not tell me?"
"I will tell you some day," I said brokenly. "Now it is another's, and
I can not. But it shall all be yours.
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