you'll simply hate him--"

"Oh, Mamma!" Mary said, with distaste.

"Yes, there will," her mother went on placidly, "and then you just say
to yourself that the best of 'em's only a big boy, and treat him as
you'd treat a boy!"

"All right, darling!" Mary laughed, kissing her. But she thought to
herself that the men Mamma had married were of very different caliber
from George.

Parenthood developed new gravities in George, all life became purer,
sweeter, more simple, with Mary beside him. Through the stress of their
first married years they became more and more closely devoted,
marvelled more and more at the miracle that had brought them together.
But Mamma suffered to this. The atmosphere of gay irresponsibility and
gossip that she brought with her on her frequent visitations became
very trying to George. He resented her shallowness, her youthful gowns,
her extravagances. Mary found herself eternally defending Mamma, in an
unobtrusive sort of way, inventing and assuming congenialities between
her and George. It had been an unmitigated blessing to have the little
lady start gayly off for Cousin Will's, only a month ago--And now here
she was again!

Mary sighed, pushed her letters aside, and stared thoughtfully out of
the window. The first of New York's blazing summer days hung heavily
over the gay Drive and the sluggish river. The Jersey hills were
blurred with heat. Dull, brief whistles of river-craft came to her;
under the full leafage of trees on the Drive green omnibuses lumbered;
baby carriages, each with its attendant, were motionless in the shade.
Mary drew her desk telephone toward her, pushed it away again,
hesitated over a note. Then she sent for her cook and discussed the
day's meals.

Alone again, she reached a second time for the telephone, waited for a
number, and asked for Mr. Venable.

"George, this is Mary," said Mary, a moment later. Silence. "George,
darling," said Mary, in a rush, "I am so sorry about Mamma, and I
realize how trying it is for you, and I'm so sorry I took what you said
at breakfast that way. Don't worry, dear, we'll settle her somehow. And
I'll spare you all I can! George, would you like me to come down to the
office at six, and have dinner somewhere? She won't be here until
tomorrow. And my new hat has come, and I want to wear it--?" She
paused; there was a moment's silence before George's warm, big voice
answered:

"You are absolutely the most adorable angel that ever brea