“So pretty and gentle and quiet, and yet you ‘see’ things with those brown eyes of yours,” pronounced Mrs. Waters. “At first I feared it was impossible that any girl who had only met my boy just in business-hours, and wearing that office-mask he has to put on, could grow to care for him as we do; but I see you could understand. You guessed that all that brusqueness and peremptory manner were just the armour for his sensitiveness; you would see that he has to put on that manner to hide the awful truth that at the bottom of his heart he is naturally as shy and nervous as Blanche and I are. _I_ believe,” she laughed softly, “that that’s why he _never_ allows us to call at the office while we’re in town! The staff _might_ suspect, seeing _us_, that he _has_ another sort of manner than the terrible one he speaks through the telephone with! I dare say that even you were taken in by it at first, weren’t you? Until he began to reveal his real self to you, I expect you looked upon him merely as a business-machine, didn’t you, Nancy?” “I suppose I did,” I murmured, feeling more uncomfortable at every word uttered by this dear, innocent lady, who had created such an idealized version of her son’s character. “And when did you begin to find out the real Billy?” _Here_ was a nice question! Thank goodness I was spared the answering of it! At that moment the drawing-room door opened to admit the tallest of the admirable parlour-maids, with the tray bearing a silver coffee-machine and the dainty Dresden service. Blanche rose from the cushion where she had been sitting at my feet, and went to the table to officiate. In her simple white dinner-gown she looked like a tall lily bending down. “Mother, plenty of hot milk and a little sugar? Nancy, how do you like your coffee?” “I don’t take it, thank you very much.” “Oh, then here’s Billy’s—black, with plenty of sugar. Will he be coming in for it?” Her mother gave a little smile. “I think perhaps Nancy won’t mind taking in Billy’s coffee to him. Will you, dear? He’s in his ‘den’; the door just opposite, across the hall.” Even without her gently mischievous glance I should have realized what she meant. The unsuspecting, sympathetic creature thought she was being kind and tactful, making an opportunity for me to have a little time alone with my _fiancé_. She imagined that we were longing for a lovers’ _tête-à-tête_, with all the fond, foolish talk that one could guess at—beaming smiles at each other, like Smithie’s—Ordinary love-making! Yes, of course, people will have to be allowed to think that there’s that between us, too. I hadn’t wasted many thoughts on this aspect of the case. But this “rubbed it in.” I felt a wave of scorching scarlet rush up my face to the roots of my hair. However, that didn’t matter: no doubt Mrs. Waters put it down to the “natural shyness” of a girl in love. She never guessed the _furious_ mixture of feelings that sent that blush into my cheeks.