“O-oh, but I do. I’ve never had occasion to doubt Mrs. Winter’s veracity. My congratulations to the happy man!” and Miss Powell kissed Nannie. “I don’t blame him. You look like a girl. No one would believe that you were Mrs. Winter’s mother,” regarding Lucy. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Be sure you send me an invitation.” “I’ll not forget--if it ever happens,” Nannie promised rather shamefacedly. She kept edging toward John whose eyes were fixed on the ground. A uniformed official droned something unintelligible in a sing-song voice. “That’s your train, Nannie,” John informed her abruptly. The party moved toward one of the gates. “Good-bye, Lucy, I’m sorry to go,” Nannie murmured, hugging and kissing Lucy. “We may have had our little tiffs but it has done us both good. By the time I come back we’ll have forgotten all about them. Be sure to write me every week.” “Good-bye, Jimmie.” She turned to her grandson. “Dimmie,” he corrected, adding, “Ain’t I goin’?” Nannie bent down and kissed him. “I wish you were, darling,” she whispered. “I want to go,” wailed Dimmie. “No, you can’t go now,” she continued in the same whisper. “Your Mamma won’t let you. But when I come back we’ll ask Papa.” The child began to cry lustily. “Good-bye, Miss Powell.” Nannie kissed the newcomer again. “Now, John.” Nannie drew him slightly apart from the others and raised her veil. “I’m going to kiss you after all,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “Don’t forget me, dear John,” she murmured, sobbing a little. “And try to get along with Lucy, no matter how hard it is.” John thrust a slip of paper into her hand. “You can write me there, until I get a box number, Nannie,” he advised brokenly. A porter took her bags and she passed through the gate. Before entering the train she turned and waved her handkerchief. “Well, I must go to the office.” John gulped, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes. “I’m going to do a little shopping. Won’t you come along, Mrs. Winter?” Miss Powell invited perfunctorily. “No, thank you.” Lucy grasped Dimmie’s hand. “I must take this little boy home.” * * * * * Half an hour later, as John’s step was heard in the corridor, Jim, who was sitting at his table with his face buried in his hands, straightened himself and took up his drawing pencil. John entered without any greeting and, going to his desk, began to examine his mail. After a moment he paused with an air of abstraction, and, removing from his button hole the flower that Nannie had given him, locked it in a convenient drawer and returned the key to his pocket. Jim worked for some minutes and then rose from his chair.