Mrs. Mortimer was within an ace of a burst of tears. He seemed
not to know that he made her faint with shame, and mad with
exultation, and bewildered with terror all in a moment. His new
manhood took no heed, save of itself. Was this being out of
harm's way, under the eyes of those poor blind parents?

"If--if you care the least for me--for what I wish, go away,
Harry," she whispered.

He looked at her in wonder, but, with a frown on his face, did as
he was told. Five minutes later he was playing again; she heard
him shout "Thirty--love," as he served, a note of triumphant
battle in his voice. She believed that she was altogether out of
his thoughts.

Her husband was to dine in town that night, and, for sheer
protection, she made Maudie Sinclair come and share her evening
meal. The children were put to bed, and they sat down alone
together, talking over the party. Maudie was pleased to relax a
little of her severity toward Harry Sterling; she admitted that
he had been very useful in arranging the sets, and very pleasant
to everyone.

"Of course, he's conceited," she said, "but all boys are. He'll
get over it."

"You talk as if you were a hundred, Maudie," laughed Mrs.
Mortimer. "He's older than you are."

"Oh, but boys are much younger than girls, Mrs. Mortimer. Harry