“Of course you couldn’t and of course he didn’t wish you to,” the wife assured her. “But it would be really beautiful--sort of nice and Emersonian--if you could pass along the favor he did you to his child. Suppose you hold an open mind, Miss Trent, until after you’ve met Jack. I’ll come to his rooms later and help to explain him. Morrison will take up all details with you, if you should decide to stay. Won’t you try, anyhow, to forget and forgive my unkindness?” The girl, still standing just within the door, heard the Frenchman’s congratulation, as the brilliant-looking pair disappeared among the palms of the foyer. “But you are wonderful, my adored one, most wonderful!” * * * * * As Dolores stepped off the elevator onto the third-floor balcony that overlooked the great, glass-domed hall, a woman’s scream cut the quiet. The housekeeper hurried ahead and threw open the door of a large, sun-flooded room. “He have bite me, Mees Morrison. But see this mark on my wrist. I should regret to desert madame, but I give up my place rather than play as the nurse one hour longer.” The plaint arose from a be-capped young woman whom Dolores later learned to be Annette, Mrs. Cabot’s maid, pressed into emergency service. She had made a shield of a light chair between herself and the boy of eight, or thereabouts, who was pursuing her. The bone of their contention seemed to be a particularly boneless toy dog held above his reach. Dolores’ first view of John Cabot, Jr., was not heartening. His only recognition of her presence was a scowl. In lurching forward over the chair to recapture his plaything, he slipped and fell, with a shriek more of chagrin than pain, upon the floor. When Morrison and Annette rushed to his assistance, Dolores intervened. She asked that they leave her alone with the boy. After the closing click of the door she crossed to one of the windows; seated herself in an upholstered chair; gave her attention to the park view. “Why don’t you come and pick me up?” At the demand, she turned to see that Master Jack still sprawled on the floor, his chin cupped in his hands, his unchildlike frown upon her. “I didn’t suppose you’d wish to be picked up--a big boy like you,” she said. “I didn’t suppose you’d even wish me to look at you.” She regretted the ruse the moment she realized his physical handicap. Having challenged his pride, however, she hesitated to retreat. But an ache for him which never was entirely eased came into her heart as she watched his efforts to achieve his feet; noted the warped condition of his legs; watched his peculiar gait as he approached her--a slithering forward of his feet, with no yield at his knees and hips.