t she had better not let me catch
her sneaking off to the picture show," Mrs. Sprockett continued. Alma,
John knew, was the oldest of Mrs. Sprockett's daughters. "What are
things coming to when girls wear their skirts above their knees and bob
their hair and think nothing of taking up with the first man they meet?
When you and I were girls, Mrs. Gallant, we would have been locked up if
we had attempted such performances.

"I tell you we owe it to our children to crush these creatures that set
such wicked examples. And Mr. Sprockett agrees with me in every word I
say."

As far as John knew, Mrs. Sprockett's husband had never, never disagreed
with her--for good and sufficient reasons. He had recalled how Mrs.
Sprockett's husband trailed her from house to house in the neighborhood
evenings while the Sprockett baby wailed for attention.

He drew Consuello's note from his pocket while he and his mother were in
the living room after dinner and read it again. He debated in his mind
what he should do and finally handed it to his mother without a word.
Mrs. Gallant adjusted her spectacles and read the note through slowly.
John studied her face and he imagined he saw her lips tremble slightly.

She evaded meeting his eyes as she handed the note back to him. He
waited for her to speak, but she was silent and he realized with a
sinking feeling that her attitude toward Consuello had not changed. He
determined, however, to dispose of the matter quickly.

"Well, mother," he said. "How shall I answer her?"

"It was very kind of her to include me but under the circumstances,
John, I----"

"Very well, mother."

"But, my boy----"

"Yes."

"Don't let me stop you from going and please don't let it harden your
heart against me."

"Mother, are you sure you're not making a sad mistake in letting your
heart harden against her?" he could not resist saying.

Her lips trembled and her handkerchief went to her eyes. Leaving his
chair he crossed to where she was sitting and put his arm around her.

"There, mother, we must not let anything come between us," he said,
tenderly. "It's all right, mother; it's all right!"

The next day, Saturday, he telephoned to Consuello early in the morning,
soon after he reached the office, in order to catch her before she left
for the studio.

"I was just about to call you," she said. "Did you get my note?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry, but it will be impossible for me to get home, tomorrow.
My direc