in mind but one person, the one gray-eyed girl worthy of such
distinction, the girl to whom he had shown such devotion but a few years
before--her daughter Mabel. Then she had begun expecting him to appear.
And when he had seemingly followed them to the seaside--well, what would
any one naturally think? Flutteringly she had doubtless put the question
to Jane, who had probably replied as she was expected to reply.

The peerless Mabel, of course, was the only one not in the secret.
Anyway, she would have taken no interest in it. Her amazing egoism would
have prevented that. Nothing interested Mabel acutely unless it
pertained to some attribute of her own loveliness.

As for Jane Temple's view of this business, that remained an enigma. Had
she grown so accustomed to her aunt Judith's estimate of Mabel that she
could accept it? That was hardly possible, for Jane had a keen sense of
humor. Then why should she help to throw Mabel at his head, or him at
Mabel's?

Meanwhile he walked at Mabel's side, carrying her wraps, while her
mother and Jane trailed judiciously in the rear. He drove out with
Mabel, Mabel's mother sitting opposite and smiling at him with an air of
complacent proprietorship. He stood by the piano and turned the music
while Mabel executed sonatas and other things for which he had not the
least appreciation. He listened to solos from _Lucia_, which Mabel sang
at Jane's suggestion. Also, Jane brought forth Mabel's sketch-books and
then ostentatiously left them alone with each other.

There was much meekness in Decatur. When handled just right he was
wonderfully complaisant. But after a whole week of Mabel he decided that
the limit had been reached. Seizing an occasion when Mabel was in the