nd and generous. But, mamma--"

She paused, disconcerted by a sudden keen look her mother gave her.

"He sounds like an agreeable person," remarked Lois, glancing at the
point of her slipper.

"What I started to say was that if you think I shouldn't see them any
more--"

"Bless me, no! I see what's in your mind, Phil, but you needn't trouble
about that. We're just trying to get acquainted, you and I. We
understand each other beautifully, and after while we'll see whether we
have any advice for each other. At your age I hadn't the sense of a
kitten. You're most astonishingly wise; I marvel at you! And you've
grown up a nice, sensible girl in spite of your aunts--none of their
cattishness--not a hint of it. I can't tell you how relieved I am to
find you just as you are. The way they have cuddled up to the Holtons is
diverting, but nothing more. It's what you would have expected of them.
The proud and haughty Montgomerys turned snobs! It's frightful to think
of it! As for me, I have nothing against the Holtons. I'm this kind of a
sinner, Phil: I carry my own load. No shoving it off on anybody else!
Some people are born with ideals; I wasn't! But I hope to acquire some
before I die; we're all entitled to a show at them. But, bless me, what
are we talking about? There's the other Holton boy; what's he got to say
for himself?"

"Oh, he'd never say it if it were left to him! He's shy, modest, proud.
No frills."

"Handsome?"

"Well, he has a nice face," Phil answered, so earnestly that her mother
laughed. "And he's modest and genuine and sincere."

"Those are good qualities. As near as I can make out, you like all these
young men well enough--the boys you knew in high school and the college
boys. And these Holtons have broken into the circle lately, and have
shown you small attentions--nothing very important."

"Charlie sends me American Beauties, and Fred has brought me quails and
a book."

"What was the book?"

"'The Gray Knight of Picardy.'"

"That's Nan Bartlett's?" Lois looked at the palm of her hand carelessly.

"Yes; it's a great success--the hit of the season."

"I suppose your father and Nan have been good friends--literary
interests in common, and all that?"

"Of course," Phil answered, uncomfortable under this seemingly
indifferent questioning.

"I have read the story. There are pages in it that are like your father.
I suppose, seeing so much of each other, they naturally talked it
over--a sort