rmudgeon!" remarked Garth. "Why are people of that sort allowed
to be called 'mothers'? We, who have had tender, perfect mothers, would
like to make it law that the other kind should always be called
'she-parents,' or 'female progenitors,' or any other descriptive title,
but not profane the sacred name of mother!"

Jane was silent. She knew the beautiful story of Garth's boyhood with
his widowed mother. She knew his passionate adoration of her sainted
memory. She liked him best when she got a glimpse beneath the surface,
and did not wish to check his mood by reminding him that she herself
had never even lisped that name.

Garth rose from his chair and stretched his slim figure in the slanting
sun-rays, much as Myra had done. Jane looked at him. As is often the
case with plain people, great physical beauty appealed to her strongly.
She only allowed to that appeal its right proportion in her estimation
of her friends. Garth Dalmain by no means came first among her
particular chums. He was older than most of them, and yet in some ways
younger than any, and his remarkable youthfulness of manner and
exuberance of spirits sometimes made him appear foolish to Jane, whose
sense of humour was of a more sedate kind. But of the absolute
perfection of his outward appearance, there was no question; and Jane
looked at him now, much as his own mother might have looked, with
honest admiration in her kind eyes.

Garth, notwithstanding the pale violet shirt and dark violet tie, was
quite unconscious of his own appearance; and, dazzled by the golden
sunlight, was also unconscious of Jane's look.

"Oh, I say, Miss Champion!" he cried, boyishly. "Isn't it nice that
they have all gone in? I have been wanting a good jaw with you. Really,
when we all get together we do drivel sometimes, to keep the ball
rolling. It is like patting up air-balls; and very often they burst,
and one realises that an empty, shrivelled little skin is all that is
left after most conversations. Did you ever buy air-balls at Brighton?
Do you remember the wild excitement of seeing the man coming along the
parade, with a huge bunch of them--blue, green, red, white, and yellow,
all shining in the sun? And one used to wonder how he ever contrived to
pick them all up--I don't know how!--and what would happen if he put
them all down. I always knew exactly which one I wanted, and it was
generally on a very inside string and took a long time to disentangle.
And how maddeni