ents at school, she followed where he led, so long as he did
not seem leading towards Deb's pocket, backing him up in the most
wifely manner. "Can it be possible?" Deb kept asking herself, glad at
heart to see such signs, which yet lessened her pity for and interest
in her sister. But Mary, with all the pride of the Pennycuicks in her,
was not, one to "let on". Her skeleton was locked tight in the cupboard
it belonged to when visitors were about--especially such a visitor as
this--and also when they were not about, so far as she could have it so.

So that a sort of air of entertaining "company" pervaded the room. Deb
felt a constraint with her sister, and that she was making no way with
her mission. But Robert stepped into the breach. With Mary's son the
impulsive lady of Redford was unexpectedly pleased. There was not a
trace of Pennycuick to be discerned in him; nevertheless, he was a
good-looking, intelligent and interesting boy. He sat by her on the
sacred brocaded sofa while she brightly questioned him, brightly
answering her with aptness and good sense; his parents beaming on the
pair, even the father content to play second fiddle to give the son his
chance. Here, at any rate, thought Deb, was material to hand for the
work she had come to do.

"I love boys," she remarked--and so she did, as some people love
dogs--"and Robert and I are going to be great friends; aren't we,
Robert?"

"It is very good of you to say so, aunt," Robert replied, with
characteristic propriety.

"But, do you know, I don't think I shall call you Robert," she went on.
"It has a prim sound"--but it was the primness of himself that she
wanted to break down--"and it doesn't suit a boy of your tender years.
I think I'll call you Bob, if you don't mind."

"I wish you would," he adroitly answered her.

"What is your bent towards, in the way of a career, Bob?"

He said he thought the law--to be a judge some day.

"You don't care for station life?"

"Oh, he does," his father eagerly interposed. "He loves it. But he has
had so few chances--"

"Which is your school, Bob?"

A seminary of no repute was named, and the father again intervened to
regret that it was not one of the public schools. "But they,
unfortunately, have been beyond our means--"

Here Mary broke in with praises of the seminary. It had such an
excellent headmaster, was so conveniently situated--really better in
many ways than one of the great schools--

And then Robert