bred.

And there was another matter which had pleased him. The Duchess had
called him up that morning, had congratulated him in terms so brief
that they sounded perfunctory, but which Larry realized had all his
grandmother's heart in them, and had said she wanted him to take over
the care of all her houses--those she had put up as bail for him.
When could he come in to see her about this?... He understood this
dusty-seeming, stooped, inarticulate grandmother of his as he had not
before. Considering what her life had been, she also was a brick.

But notwithstanding all this, Larry was lonely--hungrily lonely--and
was very much in doubt. Miss Sherwood had spoken to him fair enough the
night before--yet he really did not know just how he stood with her. And
then--Maggie. That was what meant most to him just now. True, Maggie had
emerged safe through perils without and within; and to get her through
to some such safety as now was hers had been his chief concern these
many months. He wanted to see her, to speak to her. But he did not know
what her attitude toward him would now be. He did not know how to go
about finding her. He was not even certain where she had spent the
night. He wanted to see her, yet was apulse with fear of seeing her. She
would not be hostile, he knew that much; but she might not love him;
and at the best a meeting would be awkward, with so wide a gap in their
lives to be bridged....

He was brooding thus when there was a loud knocking at his door. Without
waiting for his invitation to enter, the door was flung open, and Hunt
strode in leaving the door wide behind him. His face was just one great,
excited grin. He gave Larry a thump upon the back, which almost knocked
Larry over, and then pulled him back to equilibrium by seizing a hand in
both of his, and then almost shook it off.

"Larry, my son," exploded the big painter, "I've just done it! And I did
it just as you ordered me to! Forgot that Miss Sherwood and I had had
a falling out, and as per your orders I walked straight up to her and
asked her. And Larry, you son-of-a-gun, you were right! She said 'yes'!"

"You're lucky, old man!" exclaimed Larry, warmly returning the painter's
grip.

"And, Larry, that's not all. You told me I had the clearness of vision
of a cold boiled lobster--said I was the greatest fool that ever had
brains enough not to paint with the wrong end of an umbrella. Paid me
some little compliment like that."

"Something