Edith hardly turned her head to say “Come in!” to the timid knock at her door. She was sitting at her desk, doing accounts, and puzzled as usual by her immaculate predecessor’s example--an example which, “as the most sensible of women,” she tried hard to follow, but she was frequently overcome by the invincible malice of pounds, shillings, and pence. The pause, however, that followed arrested her attention, and she turned to meet the eyes of her step-son with a thrill of astonishment. He had never before voluntarily entered her private boudoir, and there was an air about his whole person which betokened the unusual, though he suppressed what he could only consider a weakness as well as he could. Edith saw in a moment that she must suppress it too. “I’m so glad you have come,” she said; “now you can do this horrid sum for me. I am trying to balance my accounts, and though I can see quite plainly what I’ve spent and what I had to spend, they obstinately refuse to have anything to do with each other.” Leslie looked over her shoulder; he was pleased to point out her mistake--it was a very obvious one--and it at once put him at his ease. He felt there could be nothing very formidable in a woman who could make such a silly mistake in quite a simple sum. He sat down beside her, smiling and looking so utterly unlike the glum, discontented youth she was accustomed to see that Edith could barely conceal her astonishment. “I’ve got an awful lot to say to you,” he volunteered at last. “What a jolly little room you have here--just the kind of things I like!” “Well, you must come and like them a little oftener,” said his step-mother with a friendly smile. He glanced at her uneasily. “I expect I must seem an awful ass to you,” he remarked with sudden candor. Edith shook her head. “Dear no,” she said, “nor am I a very terrible person either, when you come to know me!” “Oh, you,” said the boy, flushing scarlet--“you’re ripping! I can’t think why I’ve never noticed it before.” Edith concealed a smile at this belated tribute; she wondered what he was going to notice next. “Would you mind,” he began anxiously--“are you quite sure you wouldn’t mind, if I came here regularly--in between terms at Oxford, I mean--instead of going to Mallows?” Edith gasped. Then she said very gently and gravely: “My dear Leslie, this is your home.” He got up and walked about; she hadn’t used her advantage over him; she hadn’t even made him look a fool. He was almost willing to acknowledge that he was one. “I think I’d like to tell you all about it,” he began, “if you’re sure I sha’n’t bore you?” “No, you won’t bore me,” said his companion.