shoulders. "She has got nothing to do with me or what I do," he blurted
out. "She goes her way and I go mine."

"But surely," Tilly said, groping for his meaning, "she knows about
me--you have told her--"

"No," John broke in, in a mood like that of his old impatience over work
that was badly done by his assistants, "I haven't told her, and what is
more, I shall not tell her. It is no business of hers. I did tell her
that from now on I'd not supply her with as much money as I have been
doing, but I didn't tell her why. She throws money away--she burns it in
solid wads. She is--is foolish. She is not like your mother or any of
these plain, sensible folks up here. She is on the go all the time, to
parties, dances, and what not."

"I see," Tilly said, in a mystified tone. "Then she must be young. How
old is she, John?"

"I don't know; I haven't the least idea," was John's prompt reply. "Let
me think. Seems to me I heard Jane Holder say she was very young when I
was born. That would put her at, well, near forty. But what does that
matter? I don't care anything about her or her age."

"John, you speak so strangely," Tilly intoned, reproachfully. "You
pretend that you don't love her. Why, I'll love her always and with all
my heart if for nothing else than that she is your mother."

"Rubbish!" John sniffed. "You won't love her; you won't even like her. I
tell you she is--is different from what you think. She is--is giddy,
silly, complaining, quarrelsome--up all hours of the night and asleep
all day or moping about with bloated eyes."

"I see. She is fond of society," Tilly returned, with a little
self-deprecating sigh. "Ridgeville is a rather big town and there must
be plenty of women like her there. I won't blame her for that. I shall
love her, and I shall make her love me, too, if I possibly can. She will
be old some day and she will need us both."

For some reason inexplicable to him, John was impatient with the trend
of the talk. He was vaguely angry, and yet was trying to curb the
impulse. For the first time he was finding Tilly unreasonable. Since the
very inception of the plan to marry Tilly and reside in the little
cottage he had pictured himself and her as being completely cut off from
his old life. Since his visit to his home the sheer thought of the
sordid old house and its inmates had jarred on him to the point of
repulsiveness. He had learned to like the orderly simplicity of the
circle in which Tilly ha