"I didn't mean that--exactly. You know how much I care for his mother--and
for him." The obstinate downward trend of the brows, the narrowing blue
gaze signalled mutiny to the woman who knew her so well.

"What is so wrong with Mr. Siward?" she asked.

"Nothing. There was an affair--"

"This spring in town. I know it. Is that all?"

"Yes--for the present," replied Grace Ferrall uncomfortably; then: "For
goodness' sake, Sylvia, don't cross examine me that way! I care a great
deal for that boy--"

"So do I. I've made him take my dog."

There was an abrupt pause, and presently Mrs. Ferrall began to laugh.

"I mean it--really," said Sylvia quietly; "I like him immensely."

"Dearest, you mean it generously--with your usual exaggeration. You have
heard that he has been foolish, and because he's so young, so likable,
every instinct, every impulse in you is aroused to--to be nice to him--"

"And if that were--"

"There is no harm, dear--" Mrs. Ferrall hesitated, her grey eyes
softening to a graver revery. Then looking up: "It's rather pathetic,"
she said in a low voice. "Kemp thinks he's foredoomed--like all the
Siwards. It's an hereditary failing with him,--no, it's hereditary