“Visiting you and Eloise,” he answered, with the hearty relish which always characterized his manner when circumstances were agreeable. “Where is she?” “Riding. I don't know when they will come home, either. It's such a charming day, isn't it? So good of you to hunt us up, Nat. We've been out of the world so long. I can't tell you what a rush of memories comes over me at sight of you, you nice, big boy. I do believe you've been growing.” She gave a glance of approval at the young man's stalwart proportions. “Oh, don't humiliate me,” he laughed, as she drew him to a divan, where they seated themselves. “How could you get away at this hour?” “I'm changing my business, and get a week's vacation thereby. Great luck, isn't it?” “I hope so. Are you going to do better?” “Much better. It's only a little matter of time now, Mrs. Evringham--automobiles, steam yachts, and all the rest of it.” “Ah, the optimism of youth!” she sighed, gazing at the dancing lights in his eyes. “It's very beautiful, and usually entirely unfounded. You look so radiant, my dear. Perhaps you have come out here to let us congratulate you. Have you found that desirable girl? I certainly should be the first to be told, for I always talked to you very plainly, didn't I?” “Indeed you did, Mrs. Evringham. You always kept my ineligibility before me strenuously.” “A certain _sort_ of ineligibility, dear boy,” returned the lady with a flattering cadence. “Your capital did not happen to consist of money. Tell me all, Nat. Who is she?” He shook his head. “She's still not impossible, but improbable,” he returned. “Oh, you are too difficult, my dear. Really, I thought at the time our misfortunes fell upon us that it was going to be Miss Caton. She would have been a great assistance to you, Nat. It isn't as if you could even afford to be a bachelor. In these days so much is expected of them. How is your mother?” Mrs. Evringham made the addition in that tone of fixed sympathy which one employs when only a depressing answer can be expected. “Very well, thank you.” “You mean as well as usual, I suppose.” “No, I mean well. Wonderful, isn't it?” “Really, Nat?” Mrs. Evringham straightened up in her interest. “Who did it?” “She was healed by Christian Science.” “You don't mean it!” “Indeed I do.” Mrs. Evringham thanked her holy stars that Eloise was absent. “Well! I never for one moment classed your mother as a _malade imaginaire_!” exclaimed the lady. Her companion raised his eyebrows. “I fancy no one did who knew her.” “You believe it, then?” “I should be an idiot if I didn't.” “Do you mean to say she is out of her wheeled chair?” “No chairs for her now. When she wishes to walk she walks.” “Then she always could!” declared Mrs. Evringham. “I think you know better than that,” returned the other calmly. “How long since?” asked Mrs. Evringham. “Three months.” Silence.