ople; they were instinctively KNOWN. The girls that Duncan knew--the
very children in their nurseries--never hesitated over the wording of a
note of thanks, never innocently omitted the tipping of a servant,
never asked their maid's advice as to suitable frocks and gloves for
certain occasions. All these things, and a thousand more, his
stepmother did, to his cold embarrassment and annoyance.

The result was unfortunate in two ways. Mrs. Coppered shrank under the
unexpressed disapproval into more than her native timidity, rightly
thinking his attitude represented that of all her new world; and Carey,
who worshipped his young wife, perceived at last that Duncan was not
championing his stepmother, and for the first time in his life showed a
genuine displeasure with his son.

This was exquisitely painful to Margaret Coppered. She knew what father
and son had been to each other before her coming; she knew, far better
than Carey, that the boy's adoration of his father was the one vital
passion of his life. Mrs. Ayers, the housekeeper, sometimes made her
heartsick with innocent revelations.

"From the day his mother died, Mrs. Coppered, my dear, when poor little
Master Duncan wasn't but three weeks old, I don't believe he and his
father were separated an hour when they could be together! Mr. Coppered
would take that little owl-faced baby downstairs with him when he came
in before dinner, and 'way into the night they'd be in the library
together, the baby laughing and crowing, or asleep on a pillow on the
sofa. Why, the boy wasn't four when he let the nurse go, and carried
the child off for a month's fishing in Canada! And when we first knew
that the hip was bad, Mr. Coppered gave up his business and for five
years in Europe he never let Master Duncan out of his sight. The games
and the books--I should say the child had a million lead soldiers! The
first thing in the morning it'd be, 'Is Dad awake, Paul?' and he
running into the room; and at noon, coming back from his ride, 'Is Dad
home?' Wonderful to him his father's always been."

"That's why I'm afraid he'll never like me," Margaret was quite simple
enough to say wistfully, in response. "He never laughs out or chatters,
as Mr. Coppered says he used to do."

And after such a conversation she would be especially considerate of
Duncan--find some excuse for going upstairs when she heard the click of
his crutch in the hall, so that he might find his father alone in the
libr