every one."

"You have found that out? It is because he had a great disappointment
once, I think."

"One would never guess that."

"No. Of course, when one has had a disappointment or been made to
suffer, one makes up for that by trying to make the world brighter for
others."

"It seems," said David, "that some people do that."

"He wanted to play the violin professionally. He had studied hard and
his teachers said that he had talent. But his father forbade it. He
said it wasn't a man's work to fiddle in public. My husband," she
sighed, "was a very firm man and wanted Jonathan to learn the business.
So Jonathan went to the technical school here and studied engineering.
Jonathan," she added proudly, "had been well brought up and knew that his
parents were wiser than he."

"I see," said David.

"But I think," the little lady went on, after a pause, "we didn't know
how hard it was for him. I understand better now. Sometimes, though he
doesn't suspect, I hear it in his playing. Then I wonder if we were
wiser than he--and if I was selfish. Of course, the music would have
taken him away so much and it would have been very lonely for me--and
very dark. Sometimes I wonder if that wasn't his real reason for giving
up his music."

David was silent.

"You say nothing." Even without eyes to give meaning, her smile was
wistful as a child's. "Are you thinking he would have been happier--or
better off--in the work he wanted than in taking care of me?"

"I think," said David, "he is happy because he stayed with you."

"He has said so himself." She sighed. "I wonder--I wonder!"

For a little they said nothing, David thinking very hard.

"And now," she said at last, "you may tell me what you think of Miss
Summers."

"Why," he answered, "she seems very attractive."

"Jonathan has led me to believe so. And a gentlewoman, should you say?"

"I think so," said David, who had not thought of it at all. "Oh, yes,
undoubtedly."

"That is my opinion. And she sings very nicely." Jonathan's mother
sighed again.

There was a dinner that included creations not found in cheap
boarding-houses: fried chicken, for example, tender and flaky and brown,
and crisp waffles with honey, and sweet potatoes in the southern style.
It was cooked and served by a white-haired old negress whose round eyes
popped with pride at the destruction David wrought. She listened
shamelessly, fat bosom aquiver, to her radiant master's q