His mother stepped forward, letting both her hands fall into his.

"Wouldn't you tell me about it, Jim?"

"I'd tell you before I'd tell anybody else--if it ever became serious."

"If _what_ became serious?"

"Well--anything of that sort," he replied. But a bright colour stained his features and made him wince under her intent scrutiny.

She was worried, now, though her pretty, humorous smile still challenged him with its raillery.

But it was becoming very evident to her that if this boy of hers were growing sentimental over any woman the woman was not Elorn Sharrow.

So far she had held her son's confidence. She must do nothing to disturb it. Yet, as she looked at him with the amused smile still edging her lips, she began for the first time in her life to be afraid.

They kissed each other in silence.

In the limousine, seated beside her husband, she said presently: "I wish Jim would marry Elorn Sharrow."

"He's likely to some day, isn't he?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, there's no hurry," remarked her husband. "He ought not to marry anybody until he's thirty, and he's only twenty-four. I'm glad enough to have him remain at home with us."

"But that's what worries me; he _doesn't_!"

"Doesn't what?"

"Doesn't remain at home."

Her husband laughed: "Well, I meant it merely in a figurative sense.

Of course Jim goes out----"

"Where?"

"Why, everywhere, I suppose," said her husband, a little surprised at her tone.

She said calmly: "I hear things--pick up bits of gossip--as all women do.... And at a tea the other day a man asked me why Jim never goes to his clubs any more. So you see he doesn't go to any of his clubs when he goes 'out' in the evenings.... And he's been to no dances--judging from what is said to me.... And he doesn't go to see Elorn Sharrow any more. She told me that herself. So--where does he go?"

"Well, but----"

"Where _does_ he go--every evening?"

"I'm sure I couldn't answer----"

"Every evening!" she repeated absently.

"Good heavens, Helen----"

"And what is on that boy's mind? There's something on it."

"His business, let us hope----"

She shook her head: "I know my son," she remarked.

"So do I. What is particularly troubling you, dear? There's something you haven't told me."

"I'm merely wondering who that girl was who lunched with him at Delmonico's--_three times_--last week," mused his wife.

"Why--she's probably all right, Helen. A man doesn't take the other sort there."

"So I've heard," she said drily.

"Well, then?"

"Nothing.... She's very pretty, I understand.... And wears mourning."

"What of it?" he asked, amused. She smiled at him, but there was a trace of annoyance in her voice.

"Don't you think it very natural that I should wonder who any girl is who lunches with my son three times in one week?... And is remarkably pretty, besides?"

The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that very moment, where she sat at her desk, the telephone transmitter tilted toward her, the receiver at her ear, and her dark eyes full of gayest malice.

"Miss Dumont, please?" came a distant and familiar voice over the wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he heard her.

"You _said_ you were not going to call me up."

"Is it _you_, Palla?"

"How subtle of you!"

He said anxiously. "Are you doing anything this evening--by any unhappy chance----"

"I am."

"Oh, hang it! What _are_ you doing?"

"How impertinent!"

"You know I don't mean it that way----"

"I'm not sure. However, I'll be kind enough to tell you what I'm doing. I'm sitting here at my desk, listening to an irritable young man----"