that
John was valiantly pretending to be absorbed in their maneuvers. He was
still flushed, and his eyes all but stood out from their sockets in
their grim fixity. How she pitied him! How she longed to take the strong
red hand which half clutched his knee and assure him that it didn't
matter to her at all.

In the middle of the act something seemed to actually draw her eyes to
his mother's face. Lizzie Trott, with an expression half bewildered,
half abashed, was gazing past her son straight at her. The eyes of the
two met in a steady stare of infinite curiosity. The eyes of the woman
of the world seemed to cling to the eyes of youth and purity. The former
sank first. Lizzie Trott's wavered and fell to the dainty handkerchief
in her lap.

"She is like John about the mouth and eyes," Tilly thought. "Poor woman!
I could love her. For John's sake I could love her. Yes, I could love
her. In spite of what she is, I could love her. Poor woman! Poor woman!
And she is John's mother--actually his mother! She is not wholly bad. I
see that in her face. Something is wrong. She looks tired, sad,
disgusted."

Tilly now saw John with a flurried look in his eyes glance toward the
entrance. She read his thoughts. He was wondering if they might not get
away. He was dreading something, but what she knew not. Perhaps he was
afraid that his mother might at the end of the performance come across
boldly and introduce herself to her daughter-in-law, and perhaps make a
scene as she had done the day before. Again Tilly looked at her
mother-in-law. Their eyes met once more and clung together with almost
mystic comprehension.

"Don't be afraid," Lizzie Trott's whole aspect seemed to say. "We'll go
away. I understand, and I'll not make it hard for you."

And a moment later she was whispering something into the ear of her
companion, and the two rose and went out. John saw their backs as they
left, and Tilly noticed the expression of vast relief in his face.

"Poor woman!" Tilly said to herself. "We could be friends. She is a real
woman, after all. She'd have to be to be John's mother."

An hour later they were leaving the tent. Tilly declined John's
invitation to go to the soda-water and ice-cream parlor across the
street where a gay crowd under revolving fans were taking seats at
numerous small white tables.

"I don't care for anything," she assured him. "Let's walk on. The night
is lovely and it looks like it is close in there."

On his