sordid Bohemianism with
which he had in these later years been surrounded.

And as Brinsley talked, Geoffrey watched Anne. She had Peggy in her arms.
Such women were made, he felt, to be not only the mothers of children,
but the mothers of the men they loved--made for brooding tenderness--to
inspire--to sympathize.

Yet with all her gentleness he knew that Anne was a strong little thing.
She would never be a clinging vine; she was rather like a rose high on a
trellis--a man must reach up to draw her to him.

As she glanced up, he smiled at her, and she smiled back. Then the smile
froze.

Framed in the front doorway stood Eve Chesley! She came straight to Anne
and held out her hand. "I made Richard bring me down," she said. "I want
to talk to you about the Crossroads ball."

Eve repentant was Eve in her most charming mood. On Sunday morning she
had apologized to Richard. "I was horrid, Dicky."

"Last night? You were. I wouldn't have believed it of you, Eve."

"Oh, well, don't be a prig. Do you remember how we used to make up after
a quarrel?"

He laughed. "We had to go down on our knees."

She went down on hers, sinking slowly and gracefully to the floor.
"Please, I'm sorry."

"Eve, will you ever grow up?"

"I don't want to grow up," wistfully. "Dicky, do you remember that after
I had said I was sorry you always bought chocolate drops, and made me eat
them all. You were such a good little boy, Richard."

"I was not," hotly.

"Why is it that men don't like to be told that they were good little
boys? You are a good little boy now."

"I'm not."

"You are--and you are tied to your mother's apron strings."

"Dicky," she wailed, as he rose in wrath, "I didn't mean that. Honestly.
And I'll be good."

Still, with her feet tucked under her, she sat on the floor. "I've been
thinking----"

"Yes, Eve."

"You and I have a birthday in March. Why can't we have a big
house-warming, and ask all the county families and a lot of people from
town?"

"I'm not a millionaire, Eve."

"Neither am I. But there's always Aunt Maude."

She spread out her hands, palms upward. "All I shall have to do is to
wheedle her a bit, and she'll give it to me for a birthday present.
Please, Dicky. If you say 'yes' I'll go down to Bower's my very own self
and ask Anne Warfield to come to our ball."

He stared at her incredulously. "You'll do _what_?"

"Ask your little--school-teacher. Win scolded me last night, and said
that I w