bout aimlessly, withdraw into himself and become as one blind
and dumb and unhearing, I understood he was facing a change, making
ready to project himself into some larger phase of existence as yet in
the womb of the future. So I did not question what wind drove him
forth before it like a lost leaf. The loving silent companionship of
red Kerry, the friendly faces of young children to whom he was kind,
the eyes of poor men and women looking to him for help, these were
better for him now than I.

But my mother was not a naturalist, and she was provoked with John
Flint. He ate irregularly, he slept as it pleased God. He was "running
wild" again. This displeased her, particularly as Appleboro had at her
instigation included Mr. John Flint in its most exclusive list, and
there were invitations she was determined he should accept. She had
put her hand to the social plow in his behalf, and she had no faintest
notion of withdrawing it. Once fairly aroused, Madame had that
able-bodied will heaven seems to have lavished so plenteously upon
small women: In recompense, I dare say, for lack of size.

Therefore Mr. Flint duteously appeared at intervals among the elect,
and appeared even to advantage. And my mother remarked, complacently,
that blood will tell: he had the air! He was not expected to dance,
but he was a superb cardplayer. He never told jokes, and so avoided
deadly repetition. He had in a large measure that virtue the Chinese
extol--the virtue of allowing others to save their faces in peace. Was
it any wonder Mr. Flint's social position was soon solidly
established?

He played the game as my mother forced it upon him, though at times, I
think, it bored and chafed him sorely. What chafed him even more
sorely was the unprecedented interest many young ladies--and some old
enough to know better--suddenly evinced in entomology.

Mr. Flint almost overnight developed a savage cunning in eluding the
seekers of entomological lore. One might suppose a single man would
rejoice to see his drab workroom swarm with these brightly-colored
fluttering human butterflies; he bore their visits as visitations,
displaying the chastened resignation Job probably showed toward the
latest ultra-sized carbuncle.

"Cheer up!" urged Laurence, who was watching this turn of affairs with
unfeeling mirth. "The worst is yet to come. These are only the
chickens: wait until the hens get on your trail!"

"Mr. Flint," said Mary Virginia one afternoon,