e woman urge in the boy.
Until now his escapades had been boyish ones, a few debts frankly
revealed and as frankly regretted, some college mischiefs, a rather
serious gambling fever, quickly curbed. But never women, thank God.

But now the boy was through with college, and already he noticed
something new in their relationship. Natalie had always spoiled him, and
now there were, with increasing frequency, small consultations in her
room when he was shut out, and he was beginning to notice a restraint in
his relations with the boy, as though mother and son had united against
him.

He was confident that Natalie was augmenting Graham's allowance from her
own. His salary, rather, for he had taken the boy into the business, not
as a partner--that would come later--but as the manager of a department.
He never spoke to Natalie of money. Her house bills were paid at the
office without question. But only that day Miss Potter, his secretary,
had reported that Mrs. Spencer's bank had called up and he had made good
a considerable overdraft.

He laid the cause of his discontent to Graham, finally. The boy had
good stuff in him. He was not going to allow Natalie to spoil him, or
to withdraw him into that little realm of detachment in which she lived.
Natalie did not need him, and had not, either as a lover or a husband,
for years. But the boy did.

There was a little stir in the room behind. The Haverfords were leaving,
and the Hayden girl, who was plainly finding the party dull. Graham was
looking down at her, a tall, handsome boy, with Natalie's blonde hair
but his father's height and almost insolent good looks.

"Come around to-morrow," she was saying. "About four. There's always a
crowd about five, you know."

Clayton knew, and felt a misgiving. The Hayden house was a late
afternoon loafing and meeting place for the idle sons and daughters of
the rich. Not the conservative old families, who had developed a sense
of the responsibility of wealth, but of the second generation of easily
acquired money. As she went out, with Graham at her elbow, he heard
Chris, at the bridge table.

"Terrible house, the Haydens. Just one step from the Saturday night
carouse in Clay's mill district."

When Graham came back, Mrs. Haverford put her hand on his arm.

"I wish you would come to see us, Graham. Delight so often speaks of
you."

Graham stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"Thanks, I will." But his tone was distant.

"You know she