ildred doing everything in her pretty power to break
it up. She might just as well, he believed, try to put out the hearth
fire with the bellows.

With her daughter she became motherly and admonitory in her official
third person. "Mother wants only your happiness; you know that, dear."

"Well, then, there's nothing to worry about," said Honor, comfortably,
"for you want me to be happy and I can't be happy unless it's with
Jimsy, so you'll have to want me to have Jimsy, Muzzie!"

"Mother wants real happiness for you, Honor, genuine, lasting happiness.
That's why she wants you to be sure. And you cannot possibly be sure at
your age."

"Yes, I can, Muzzie," said Honor, patiently. "Surer than sure.
Why,--haven't I always had Jimsy,--ever since I can remember? _Before_ I
can remember? He's part of everything that's ever happened to me. I
can't imagine what things would be like without him. _I won't imagine
it!_" Her eyes darkened and her mouth grew taut.

"But you'll promise Mother to keep it a secret? You'll promise me
faithfully?"

"Of course, Muzzie, if you want me to, but I can't see what difference
it makes. I'll never be any surer than I am now,--and I can't ever know
Jimsy any better than I do now. Why"--she laughed--"it isn't as if I had
fallen in love at eighteen, with a new person, some one I'd just met, or
some one I'd known only a little while, like Carter! If I felt like this
about Carter I'd think it was reasonable to 'wait' and be 'sure.'" She
was aware of a new expression on her mother's lovely face and
interpreted it in her own fashion. "I'm sorry if you don't like our
telling Carter, Muzzie. We did it before you asked us not to, you know.
He's always with us and I'm sure he'd have found out, anyway." She
smiled. "Carter's funny about it. He acts--amused--as if he were years
and years older, and we were babies playing in a sand box or making mud
pies." It was clear that his amusement amused her, just as her mother's
admonition amused her: nothing annoyed or disturbed her,--her serenity
was too deep for that. Her fine placidity was lighted now with an inner
flame, but she was very quiet about her happiness; she was not very
articulate in her joy.

"Mother cannot let you go about unchaperoned with Jimsy, Honor. People
would very soon suspect----"

"I don't think they would, Muzzie," said Honor, calmly. "None of the
other mothers are so particular, you know. Most of the girls go on walks
and rides alo