p to see me at school
one day. My mother was very beautiful.... I was mad about her." Curiously
enough, every trace of the Western cowboy had gone out of his voice and
manner, which were an echo of the voice and manner of the Groton
schoolboy whose experience he told. "I was proud of her--you know how a
kid is. I kind of paraded her round and showed her off to the other
fellows. No other fellow had such a beautiful mother. Then, as we were
saying good-bye, a crowd of the boys all round, I did something--trod on
her foot or something, I don't quite know what--and she lifted up her
hand and slapped me across the face." He was white at the shocking
memory. "Right there before them all, when I--I was adoring her. She had
the temper of a devil, a sudden Spanish temper--the kind I have, too--and
she never made the slightest effort to hold it down. She hit me and she
laughed as though it was funny and she got into her carriage. I cut off
to my room. I wanted to kill myself. I couldn't face any one. I wanted
never to see her again. I guess I was a queer sort of kid.... I don't
know ..." He drew a big breath, dropped back to the present and his
vivid color returned. "That's why I ran away from school, Miss Arundel."

"And they never brought you back?"

He laughed. "They never found me. I had quite a lot of money and I
lost myself pretty cleverly...a boy of fourteen can, you know. It's
a very common history. Well, I suppose they didn't break their necks
over me either, after the first panic. They were busy people--my
parents--remarkably busy going to the devil.... And they were eternally
hard-up. You see, my grandfather had the money--still has it--and he's
remarkably tight. I wrote to them after six years, when I was twenty.
They wrote back; at least their lawyer did. They tried, not very
sincerely, though, I think, to coax me East again... told me they'd
double my allowance if I did--they've sent me a pittance--" He shuddered
suddenly, a violent, primitive shiver. "I'm glad I didn't go," he said.

There was a long stillness. That dreadful climax to the special
"business" of the Hilliards was relived in both their memories. But it
was something of which neither could speak. Sheila wondered if the
beautiful mother was that instant wearing the hideous prison dress. She
wished that she had read the result of the trial. She wouldn't for the
world question this pale and silent young man. The rest of their ride was
quiet and rather