giving Mrs. De Peyster an instant in which to pursue the matter
further, he awkwardly pushed her favorite chair toward the fire to a
place beside his own. "Come sit down, mother. There's a lot of things
I want to tell you."

Mrs. De Peyster lowered herself into the chair. "Yes?"

Jack's eyes had meditatively followed Olivetta. "Do you know, mother,
that Olivetta would really be an awfully good sort if she only had the
right chance?"

"The right chance?"

"Yes. Think of her living on and on in that deadly proper little
hotel--chuck full of primped and crimped and proud poor relations who
don't dare draw a single full-sized breath without first considering
whether such a daring act might not disturb the social standing of
somebody over on Fifth Avenue or down here on Washington Square--Oh,
I say, mother, five more years of that life and Olivetta will be
choked--dessicated--salted away--a regular forever-and-ever-amen old
maid. But if--" He hesitated.

"Yes--if?"

"If Olivetta were only to marry some one--some decent fellow--she'd
blossom out, grow as young as she actually is--and, who knows, perhaps
even her hairpins might stay in."

"Marry, yes. But whom?"