It was a kind of satisfaction to Mela to have Miss Vance come, and reassuring as to how it would look to have the funeral there; Miss Vance would certainly not have come unless it had been all right; she had come, and had sent some Easter lilies.

“Ain’t Christine coming down?” Fulkerson asked Mela.

“No, she ain’t a bit well, and she ain’t been, ever since Coonrod died.  I don’t know, what’s got over her,” said Mela.  She added, “Well, I should ‘a’ thought Mr. Beaton would ‘a’ made out to ‘a’ come!”

“Beaton’s peculiar,” said Fulkerson.  “If he thinks you want him he takes a pleasure in not letting you have him.”

“Well, goodness knows, I don’t want him,” said the girl.

Christine kept her room, and for the most part kept her bed; but there seemed nothing definitely the matter with her, and she would not let them call a doctor.  Her mother said she reckoned she was beginning to feel the spring weather, that always perfectly pulled a body down in New York; and Mela said if being as cross as two sticks was any sign of spring-fever, Christine had it bad.  She was faithfully kind to her, and submitted to all her humors, but she recompensed herself by the freest criticism of Christine when not in actual attendance on her.  Christine would not suffer Mrs. Mandel to approach her, and she had with her father a sullen submission which was not resignation.  For her, apparently, Conrad had not died, or had died in vain.

“Pshaw!” said Mela, one morning when she came to breakfast, “I reckon if we was to send up an old card of Mr. Beaton’s she’d rattle down-stairs fast enough.  If she’s sick, she’s love-sick.  It makes me sick to see her.”

Mela was talking to Mrs. Mandel, but her father looked up from his plate and listened.  Mela went on:  “I don’t know what’s made the fellow quit comun’.  But he was an aggravatun’ thing, and no more dependable than water.  It’s just like Air.  Fulkerson said, if he thinks you want him he’ll take a pleasure in not lettun’ you have him.  I reckon that’s what’s the matter with Christine.  I believe in my heart the girl ’ll die if she don’t git him.”

Mela went on to eat her breakfast with her own good appetite.  She now always came down to keep her father company, as she said, and she did her best to cheer and comfort him.  At least she kept the talk going, and she had it nearly all to herself, for Mrs. Mandel was now merely staying on provisionally, and, in the absence of any regrets or excuses from Christine, was looking ruefully forward to the moment when she must leave even this ungentle home for the chances of the ruder world outside.

The old man said nothing at table, but, when Mela went up to see if she could do anything for Christine, he asked Mrs. Mandel again about all the facts of her last interview with Beaton.