with an endless tenderness for him in the depths of her blue
eyes.

"Here I am again, mother, and unwounded this time," he cried after the
first greeting; "and I suppose that as soon as they hear of my arrival
all the Yankees will be running back to the North."

She smiled her quiet, placid smile.

"Ah, my son," she said, and from her voice he could not doubt her
seriousness, "I'm afraid they will not go even when they hear of your
arrival."

"In your heart of hearts, mother, you have always believed that they
would come into Richmond. But remember they are not here yet. They were
even closer than this before the Seven Days, but they got their faces
burned then for their pains."

They talked after their old custom, while Prescott ate his luncheon and
his mother gave him the news of Richmond and the people whom he knew. He
noticed often how closely she followed the fortunes of their friends,
despite her seeming indifference, and, informed by experience, he never
doubted the accuracy of her reports.

"Helen Harley is yet in the employ of Mr. Sefton," she said, "and the
money that she earns is, I hear, still welcome in the house of the
Harleys. Mr. Harley is a fine Southern gentleman, but he has found means
of overcoming his pride; it requires something to support his state."

"But what of Helen?" asked Prescott. He always had a feeling of
repulsion toward Mr. Harley, his sounding talk, his colossal vanity and
his selfishness.

"Helen, I think," said his mother, "is more of a woman than she used to
be. Her mind has been strengthened by occupation. You won't object,
Robert, will you, if I tell you that in my opinion both the men and
women of the South have suffered from lack of diversity and variety in
interests and ambitions. When men have only two ambitions, war and
politics, and when women care only for the social side of life,
important enough, but not everything, there can be no symmetrical
development. A Southern republic, even if they should win this war, is
impossible, because to support a State it takes a great deal more than
the ability to speak and fight well."

Prescott laughed.

"What a political economist we have grown to be, mother!" he said, and
then he added thoughtfully: "I won't deny, however, that you are
right--at least, in part. But what more of Helen, mother? Is Mr. Sefton
as attentive as ever to his clerk?"

She looked at him covertly, as if she would measure alike his expression
and