t's all bosh that a fellow saves by staying with
people. I don't know how it is for a lady, but a man's practically let
in--"

"Do you know you kill me, Harold?" Mrs. Brookenham woefully interposed.
But it was with the same remote melancholy that she asked in the next
breath: "It wasn't an INVITATION--to Brander?"

"It's as I told you. She said she'd write, fixing a time; but she never
did write."

"But if YOU wrote--"

"It comes to the same thing? DOES it?--that's the question. If on my
note she didn't write--that's what I mean. Should one simply take it
that one's wanted? I like to have these things FROM you, mother. I do, I
believe, everything you say; but to feel safe and right I must just HAVE
them. Any one WOULD want me, eh?"

Mrs. Brookenham had opened her eyes, but she still attached them to the
cornice. "If she hadn't wanted you she'd have written to keep you off.
In a great house like that there's always room."

The young man watched her a moment. "How you DO like to tuck us in and
then sit up yourself! What do you want to do, anyway? What ARE you up
to, mummy?"

She rose at this, turning her eyes about the room as if from the
extremity of martyrdom or the wistfulness of some deep thought. Yet when
she spoke it was with a different expression, an expression that
would have served for an observer as a marked illustration of that
disconnectedness of her parts which frequently was laughable even to the
degree of contributing to her social success. "You've spent then more
than four pounds in five days. It was on Friday I gave them to you. What
in the world do you suppose is going to become of me?"

Harold continued to look at her as if the question demanded some answer
really helpful. "Do we live beyond our means?"

She now moved her gaze to the floor. "Will you PLEASE get away?"

"Anything to assist you. Only, if I SHOULD find I'm not wanted--?"

She met his look after an instant, and the wan loveliness and vagueness
of her own had never been greater. "BE wanted, and you won't find it.
You're odious, but you're not a fool."

He put his arms about her now for farewell, and she submitted as if it
was absolutely indifferent to her to whose bosom she was pressed. "You
do, dearest," he laughed, "say such sweet things!" And with that he
reached the door, on opening which he pulled up at a sound from below.
"The Duchess! She's coming up."

Mrs. Brookenham looked quickly round the room, but she spoke with