if he were the same
man who had ridden his old Ben up over the hills, and had said his solemn
grace at his own candle-lighted table.

It had been decided that he and Eve should wait until another year for
their wedding. Richard wanted to get a good start. Eve was impatient, but
acquiesced.

It was not Richard's engagement, however, which gave to his life the
effect of strangeness. It was, rather, his work, which swept him into a
maelstrom of new activities. Austin needed rest and he knew it. Richard
was young and strong. The older man, using his assistant as a buffer
between himself and a demanding public, felt no compunction. His own
apprenticeship had been hard.

So Richard in Austin's imposing limousine was whirled through fashionable
neighborhoods and up to exclusive doorways. He presided at operations
where the fees were a year's income for a poor man. A certain percentage
of these fees came to him. He found that he need have no fears for his
financial future.

His letters from his mother were his only link with the old life. She
wrote that she was well. That Anne Warfield was with her, and Cousin
Sulie, and that the three of them and Cousin David played whist. That
Anne was such a dear--that she didn't know what she would do without her.

Richard went as often as he could on Sundays to Crossroads. But at such
times he saw little of Anne. She felt that no one should intrude on the
reunions of mother and son. So she visited at Beulah's or Bower's and
came back on Mondays.

Nancy persisted in her refusal to go back to New York. "I know I am
silly," she told her son, "but I have a feeling that I shouldn't be able
to breathe, and should die of suffocation."

Richard spoke to Dr. Austin of his mother's state of mind. "Queer thing,
isn't it?"

"A natural thing, I should say. Your father's death was an awful blow. I
often wonder how she lived out the years while she waited for you to
finish school."

"But she did live them, so that I might be prepared to practice at
Crossroads. As I think of it, it seems monstrous that I should disappoint
her."

"Fledglings always leave the nest. Mothers have that to expect. The
selfishness of the young makes for progress. It would have been equally
monstrous if you had stayed in that dull place wasting your talents."

"Would it have been wasted, sir? There's no one taking my place in the
old country. And there are many who could fill it here. There's a chance
at Crossroad