aw fit to parry this last thrust.

"I've always supposed I was capable of taking care of myself," she
said. "At any rate, you've let me proceed on that theory."

It needed only the slightest flutter of an opponent's rapier to throw
Mrs. Waddington on the defensive.

"You never let me," she mourned. "Goodness knows, I gave you every
chance to take me along. When first you began going with those painter
people, you might have counted me in."

"You didn't seem eager, perceptibly, until I had made my own way,"
Kate vouchsafed. At that moment the telephone rang.

While Kate was in the house, no one else thought of answering the
telephone. Mrs. Waddington would have been the last to usurp the
prerogative. For that instrument was the tap root of her spy system
over her daughter. By it, she picked up things; learned what this
irresponsible responsibility of hers was doing. Mrs. Waddington had
her mental lists of Kate's telephonic friends. She imagined that she
could tell, by the tone of her daughter's voice, just who was on the
other end of the line.

"Oh, Bert Chester!" came Kate's voice from the hall. Mrs. Waddington
made note number one. This mention of the name was significant. The
discreet Kate, who knew her mother's habits, hardly ever called names
over the wire.

A pause for a very short reply, and then:

"Certainly. Zinkand at one. I'm beginning to think it's time I worked
at my job as confidant. What is the use of a confidant if you don't
confide?"

Mrs. Waddington leaned forward while Kate got her reply. The mother in
her, unsensitized though as it was, noted the sparkle in Kate's voice.
But for the intervening door, she might have seen a great deal more
sparkle in Kate's face, down-turned to listen.

"Oh yes, I was aware of that!" Kate's voice went on. "Dolt! Did I
catch it? You're a poor dissembler. You're too honest. You might tell
the verdict before I tell you--"

Mrs. Waddington could stand it no longer. It was so uncommon for her
daughter to speak thus freely and emotionally at the telephone, that
she must have a look. She rose, therefore, and crossed past the open
hall door. She noticed a certain tension in her daughter's face as she
bent her head to await the reply.

"You poor, perplexed boy!" went on Kate's purring, caressing voice,
"Then you need a confidant. Zinkand's at one--and I'll look my
prettiest to draw you out!"

Mrs. Waddington, when her daughter was come back into the room,
renew