ng
to come in again! And Thorpe says it is LARGELY because he could have
his mother!"

But the exhilaration did not last. Presently she leaned her head back
against the seat, and Duncan saw how marked was the pallor of her face,
now that the rouge was gone. There was fatigue in the droop of her
mouth, and in the deep lines etched under her eyes.

"It's after six, Duncan," she said, without opening her eyes, "so I
can't sleep, as I hoped! We'll have to dine, and then go straight to
the theatre!"

"You're tired," said the boy, abruptly. She opened her eyes at the
tone, and forced a smile.

"No--or, yes, I am, a little. My head's been aching. I wish to-night
was over." Suddenly she sighed. "It's been a strain, hasn't it?" she
said. "I knew it would be, but I didn't realize how hard! I just wanted
to do something for them, you know, and this was all I could think of.
And I've been wishing your father had been here; I don't know what he
will say. I don't stop to think--when it's the people I love--" she
said artlessly. "I dread--" she began again, but left the sentence
unfinished, after all, and looked out of the window. "I suspect you're
tired, too!" she went on brightly, after a moment. "I shan't forget
what a comfort it's been to have you with me through this queer
experience, Duncan. I know what it has cost you, my dear."

"Comfort!" echoed Duncan. He tried to laugh, but the laugh broke itself
off gruffly. He found himself catching her hand, putting his free arm
boyishly about her shoulders. "I'm not fit to speak to you, Margaret!"
he said huskily. "You're--you're the best woman I ever knew! I want you
to know I'm sorry--sorry for it all--everything! And as for Dad, why,
he'll think what I think--that you're the only person in the world
who'd do all this for another woman's kid!"

Mrs. Coppered had tried to laugh, too, as she faced him. But the tears
came too quickly. She put her wet face against his rough overcoat and
for a moment gave herself up to the luxury of tears.

"Carey," said his wife, on a certain brilliant Sunday morning a month
later, when he had been at home nearly a month. She put her head in at
the library door. "Carey, will you do me a favor?"

He looked up to smile at her, in her gray gown and flowered hat, and
she came in to take the seat opposite him at the broad table.

"I will. Where are you going?"

"Duncan and I are going to church, and you're to meet us at the
Gregorys' for lunch," s