ifully poised head had thick
white hair rolled back and wound about in a soft coil. Her face, pink
with a persistent bloom, soft with a contour never to break or grow old,
was simply a mother's face. It had the mother look,--the sweet serious
eyes, the low brow, for beauty not for thought, the tranquil mouth. She
was dressed in a fine cambric simply made, with little white ruffles
about her neck and above her motherly hands. Madam Fulton saw her
debating as they came, frowning a little, wondering evidently about the
stranger. She called to her.

"Who is this, Bessie Grant?"

The other woman laid a hand upon her canes, and then, as if this were an
instinctive movement, yet not to be undertaken hurriedly, smiled and sat
still, awaiting them. When they were at the steps, she spoke in an
exceedingly pleasant voice. It deepened the effect of her great
gentleness.

"I'm sure I don't know. Come right up and tell me."

They mounted the steps together, and Stark put out his hand. Mrs. Grant
studied him for a moment. Light broke over her sweet old face.

"It's Billy Stark," she said.

"Of course it is," triumphed the other old lady. "Billy Stark come back
from foreign parts as good as new. Now let's sit down and talk it over."

They drew their chairs together, and, smiles and glances mingling, went
back over the course of the years, first with a leap to the keen, bright
time when they were in school together. The type of that page was
clear-cut and vivid. There were years they skipped then, and finally
they came to the present, and Billy said,--

"You have two grandsons?"

"Yes. One lives with me. The other is coming home to-morrow. He's the
painter."

"Engaged to Electra," added Madam Fulton. "Did you know that? They are
to be married this summer. Then I suppose he'll go back to Paris and
she'll go with him."

Mrs. Grant was looking at her with a grave attention.

"We hope not," she said, "Osmond and I. Osmond hopes Peter will settle
here and do some work. He thinks it will be best for him."

"There's no difficulty about his getting it," said Billy. "I saw his
portrait of Mrs. Rhys. That was amazing."

The grandmother nodded, in a quiet pleasure.

"They said so," she returned.

"It will do everything for him."

"It has done everything. Osmond says he has only to sit down now and
paint. But he thinks it will be best for him to do it here--at least for
a time."

"How in the world can Osmond tell before he s