"Yes, their kind. It's one thing to accept their favors, and it's quite another to make them think you are doing them one. So I sailed in to make Ruth Van Ostend interested in me as far as possible, circumstances permitting--and you'll admit that a yachting trip is about as favorable as they make it. You know she's three years older than I, and I think it flattered and amused her to accept my devotion for a while, but then--" "But, Champney, did you love her?" "Well, to be honest, mother, I hadn't got that far myself--don't know that I ever should have; any way, I wanted to get her to the point before I went through any self-catechism on that score." "But, Champney!" She spoke with whole-hearted protest. He nodded up at her understandingly. "I know the 'but', mother; but that's how it stood with me. You know they were in Paris the next spring and, of course, I saw a good deal of them--and of many others who were dancing attendance on the heiress to the same tune that I was. But I caught on soon, and saw all the innings were with one special man; and, well--I didn't make a fool of myself, that's all. As you know, she was married the autumn after your return, three years ago." "You're sure you really didn't mind, Champney?" He laughed out at that. "Mind! Well, rather! You see it knocked one of my little plans higher than a kite--a plan I made the very day I decided to accept Mr. Van Ostend's offer. Of course I minded." "What plan?" "Wonder if I'd better tell you, mother? I'd like to stand well in your good graces--" "Oh, Champney!" "Fact, I would. Well, here goes then: I decided--I was lying up under the pines, you know that day I didn't want to accept his offer?"--she nodded confirmatorily--"that if I couldn't have an opportunity to get rich quick in one way, I would in another; and, in accepting the offer, I made up my mind to try for the sister and her millions; if successful, I intended to take by that means a short cut to matrimony and fortune." "Oh, Champney!" "Young and fresh and--hardened, wasn't it, mother?" "You were so young, so ignorant, so unused to that sort of living; you had no realization of the difficulties of life--of love--." She began speaking as if in apology for his weakness, but ended with the murmured words "life--love", in a voice so tense with pain that it sounded as if the major dominant of youth and ignorance suddenly suffered transcription into a haunting minor. Her son looked up at her in surprise. "Why, mother, don't take it so hard; I assure you I didn't. It brought me down to bed rock, for I was making a conceited ass of myself that's all, in thinking I could have roses for fodder instead of thistles--and just for the asking! It did me no end of good. I shall never rush in again where even angels fear to tread except softly--I mean the male wingless kind--worth a couple of millions; she has seven in her own right.--But we're the best of friends."