from going anywhere you
wanted to? Answer me that, will you?"

"No, mother," answered Stephen, "you never have. But I wish I could make
you happier."

"You do make me very happy, Steve," said Mrs. White, mollified by the
gentle answer. "You're a good boy, and always was; but it does vex me to
see you always so ready to be at everybody's beck and call; and, where
it's a woman, it naturally vexes me more. You wouldn't want to run any
risk of being misunderstood, or making a woman care about you more than
she ought."

Stephen stared. This was a new field. Had his mother gone already thus far
in her thoughts about Mercy Philbrick? And was her only thought of the
possibility of the young woman's caring for him, and not in the least of
his caring for her?

And what would ever become of the peace of their daily life, if this kind
of jealousy--the most exacting, most insatiable jealousy in the
world--were to grow up in her heart? Stephen was dumb with despair. The
apparent confidential friendliness and assumption of a tacit understanding
and agreement between him and her on the matter, with which his mother had
said, "You wouldn't want to be misunderstood, or make a woman care more
for you than she ought," struck terror to his very soul. The apparent
amicableness of her remark at the present moment did not in the least
blind him to the enormous possibilities of future misery involved in such
a train of feeling and thought on her part. He foresaw himself involved in
a perfect network of espionage and cross-questioning and suspicion, in
comparison with which all he had hitherto borne at his mother's hands
would seem trivial. All this flashed through his mind in the brief
instant that he hesitated before he replied in an off-hand tone, which for
once really blinded his mother,--

"Goodness, mother! whatever put such ideas into your head? Of course I
should never run any such risk as that."

"A man can't possibly be too careful," remarked Mrs. White, sententiously.
"The world's full of gossiping people, and women are very impressionable,
especially such high-strung women as that young widow. A man can't
possibly be too careful. Read me the paper now, Stephen."

Stephen was only too thankful to take refuge in and behind the newspaper.
A newspaper had so often been to him a shelter from his mother's eyes, a
protection from his mother's tongue, that, whenever he saw a storm or a
siege of embarrassing questioning about to begin