ened."

Deb nodded.

"Did you," she inquired feelingly, "borrow of those professional
money-lenders?"

She was prepared to be very sympathetic in that case; but Mr
Goldsworthy repelled the suggestion with scorn.

"Certainly not. I never borrowed money in my life. I struggled and
scraped and saved, as best I could; I endeavoured in vain to augment my
small income by little speculations--harmless little dabblings in
mining shares; I--but I won't bore you with these
disagreeables"--pulling himself up with an air of forced cheerfulness.

"But I want to know," said Deb. "You spoke of worries--Mary's
worries--worries now; are you still--"

He spread his hands and wagged his head.

"I'd rather not talk about our troubles," he sighed. "I don't want to
dim the sunshine of your--"

And suddenly his eye flashed and his brow contracted with annoyance.
Mary--somewhat hesitatingly, to be sure--walked in.

Robert had insisted that the pater was all wrong in his idea that it
was proper for him alone to receive the visitor, and for the mistress
of the house to linger inhospitably after it was known that she must
know of the visitor's arrival. Robert had coerced his mother into doing
the correct thing. Politely he opened the drawing-room door for
her--that, of course, was absolutely the correct thing--and escorted
her forward with the aplomb of a man of the world, nicely blended with
the respectfulness appropriate to a nephew and a school-boy.

"Ah, HERE she is!" Mr Goldsworthy exclaimed heartily.

The sisters were at once in each other's arms. Deb, pierced to the
heart by Mary's aged and faded looks, was the most demonstrative of the
two; Mary struck her after a moment as being a little reserved and
chilly--as if on the watch to repel benevolence as soon as it should
take tangible form. Deb understood, and was warned to be circumspect.

"And this is our boy--grown out of knowledge, eh?"

Mary stepped swiftly aside to let Robert come forward, and there was no
mistaking the sentiments held in common by the parents with regard to
their son. Their two faces were mirrors for each other, suffused with
the same tender pride.

"Perhaps the child has reconciled her to the rest of it," Deb hazarded
a hope. "She may be happy."

For Mary smiled and moved alertly about the room. She accepted her
husband's ostentatious hand and chair, and when he resumed the
conversation, or rather restarted it, on the subject of Robert's
achievem