He turned to his mother: “Bruce of our class. Didn’t you recognize him? Best fullback the college ever saw.” “I did think there was something familiar about that young man’s face,” responded Mrs. Nixon. “Most attractive; and such charming manners.” Her carefully modulated voice fell agreeably on Miss Foster’s ears. “He tried to give us the front seat; but the lady with him,” Mrs. Nixon raised her eyebrows, “was so very anxious to secure it, that I was glad your uncle refused.” Mrs. Bruce turned and looked down to see Irving’s friend, and exclaimed at once, beaming with interest:— “I remember you perfectly, Mr. Nixon. You were so funny on Class Day.” As Mrs. Bruce spoke, her eyes roved again to the young man’s party. “I remember you at the games too, Mrs. Bruce,” replied the young fellow, rising, “and for the same reason. You were so funny! We’re a couple of family parties, it seems. My mother, and my uncle, Mr. Derwent, are here, and at the first stop we’ll all become acquainted.” So saying, Robert dropped back into his seat, and turning with scarce a pause to his mother, said explanatorily, “Brute’s stepmother. An up-and-coming dame. You will have to meet her.” Mrs. Nixon frowned at him significantly and nodded her head toward Betsy’s immovable back. “All right,” said Robert airily, and glanced at the woman who shared his place. The walnut profile impressed itself upon him for the first time, and in connection with the Bruces he now remembered the woman to whom Irving had been so attentive on various college occasions. “I’ll be jiggered,” thought the youth, “if it isn’t Brute’s nurse! Well, we are being chaperoned through the park, good and plenty.” Then he amazed his mother by addressing his companion. “Why, how d’ ye do? Why didn’t you speak to me?” Betsy gave her odd one-sided smile as she looked back at his cheerfully grinning countenance. “It’s all so long ago now, Mr. Nixon, I didn’t suppose you’d remember me. I didn’t know you at first.” “I’m not at all surprised. I’ve grown old and decrepit in the last two years; but to show you my mind isn’t failing yet, I can tell you where I last saw you. It was in a gondola in Venice.” Betsy smiled and nodded. “I remember your calling across to Mr. Irving very well, Mr. Nixon.” “Good. Your memory’s all right, too.” Helen Maynard, sitting quiet and forgotten at Mrs. Nixon’s elbow, looked at Robert with some approval for the first time. He swung around in his seat so suddenly that he accidentally caught her glance. Miss Maynard had a symmetrical little nose and mouth, and he liked the way she did her hair; and wearing her present expression it occurred to him for the first time that the young woman, who was both his uncle’s stenographer and his mother’s companion, was rather fetching. “Did you see the formation pretty thoroughly yesterday, Miss Maynard?” he asked briskly. Her quickly averted eyes sought the splendid sweeps of Jupiter Terrace which the stage was now passing.