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She shook her head.

"I'm a Duff, not a Blaisdell—except when they want—" She bit her lip. A confused red suffused her face. "I mean, I'm not a Blaisdell at all," she finished hastily.

"Humph! That's exactly it!" Mr. Smith was sitting energetically erect.

"You're not a Blaisdell—except when they want something of you!"

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"Oh PLEASE, I didn't mean to say—I DIDN'T say—THAT," cried Miss

Maggie, in very genuine distress.

"No, I know you didn't, but I did," flared the man. "Miss Maggie, it's a downright shame—the way they impose on you sometimes."

"Nonsense! I like to have them—I mean, I like to do what I can for them," she corrected hastily, laughing in spite of herself.

"You like to get all tired out, I suppose."

"I get rested—afterward."

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"And it doesn't matter, anyway, of course," he gibed.

"Not a bit," she smiled.

"Yes, I suspected that." Mr. Smith was still sitting erect, still speaking with grim terseness. "But let me tell you right here and now that I don't approve of that doctrine of yours."


"That 'It-doesn't-matter' doctrine of yours. I tell you it's very pernicious—very! I don't approve of it at all."

There was a moment's silence.

"No?" Miss Maggie said then, demurely. "Oh, well—it doesn't matter—if you don't."

He caught the twinkle in her eyes and threw up his hands despairingly.