old me that she hadn't laid eyes on you for
ages."

"It's happened so.... I've had a lot of things to do----"

"You and she still agree, don't you, Jim?"

"Why, yes--as usual. We always get on together."

Helen Shotwell's ermine wrap slipped; he caught it and fastened it for
her, and she took hold of both his hands and drew his arms tightly
around her pretty shoulders.

"What troubles you, darling?" she asked smilingly.

"Why, nothing, mother----"

"Tell me!"

"Really, there is nothing, dear----"

"Tell me when you are ready, then," she laughed and released him.

"But there isn't anything," he insisted.

"Yes, Jim, there is. Do you suppose I don't know you after all these
years?"

She considered him with clear, amused eyes: "Don't forget," she added,
"that I was only seventeen when you arrived, my son; and I have grown
up with you ever since----"

"For heaven's sake, Helen!--" protested Sharrow Senior plaintively
from the front hall below. "Can't you gossip with Jim some other
time?"

"I'm on my way, James," she announced calmly. "Put your overcoat on."
And, to her son: "Go to the opera. Elorn will cheer you up. Isn't that
a good idea?"

"That's--certainly--an idea.... I'll think it over.... And, mother, if
I seem solemn at times, please try to remember how rotten every fellow
feels about being out of the service----"

Her gay, derisive laughter checked him, warning him that he was not
imposing on her credulity. She said smilingly:

"You have neglected Elorn Sharrow, and you know it, and it's on your
conscience--whatever else may be on it, too. And that's partly why you
feel blue. So keep out of mischief, darling, and stop neglecting
Elorn--that is, if you ever really expect to marry her----"

"I've told you that I have never asked her; and I never intend to ask
her until I am making a decent living," he said impatiently.

"Isn't there an understanding between you?"

"Why--I don't think so. There couldn't be. We've never spoken of that
sort of thing in our lives!"

"I think she expects you to ask her some day. Everybody else does,
anyway."

"Well, that is the one thing I _won't_ do," he said, "--go about with
the seat out of my pants and ask an heiress to sew on the patch for
me----"

"Darling! You _can_ be so common when you try!"

"Well, it amounts to that--doesn't it, mother? I don't care what busy
gossips say or idle people expect me to do! There's no engagement, no
understanding be