"Not unless John Dene's a joke, mother dear," she replied. "Wouldn't it be funny to call him Jack?" Then she told her mother of the happenings of the afternoon. "Please say you're glad," she said a little wistfully. "I'm--I'm so surprised, dear," said Mrs. West, stroking her daughter's head gently; "but I'm glad, very glad." "I thought you would be, and I shall be Lady Dene. Everybody at the Admiralty says he'll get a title, and you'll have to say to the servants, 'Is her ladyship at home?' You won't forget, mother, will you?" She looked up with mock anxiety into her mother's face. Mrs. West smiled down at Dorothy; her eyes too were wet. "But oh! there's such a lot of spade work to be done," continued Dorothy. "I shall begin with his boots." "His boots!" "They're so dreadful, mother. They're all built up in front as if they were made to kick with, and when I marry him, if there's any kicking to be done, I'm going to do it." "Of course you realise, dear, that he's much older than you," said Mrs. West hesitatingly. "He's a perfect baby-in-arms compared with me," she smiled at her mother, a quaint confident little smile. "But you're sure that--that----" Mrs. West hesitated. Dorothy nodded her head violently. "When----" began Mrs. West. "It--it was when he disappeared," she said with averted face. "I--I seemed to miss him so much. Oh! but mother," she cried, clasping her mother's knee, "he's so funny, and really he wants someone to look after him. You see," she continued slowly, gazing away from her mother, "it's always difficult to---- What made you love--care for father?" she corrected. "He was your father, dear." "Yes; but he wasn't before you married him." "Dear, you----" began Mrs. West, a flush of embarrassment mounting to her cheeks. "Own up, mother, that you don't know. You can't say it was the shape of his nose, or the way he ate, or his chest measurement." "Dorothy! why will you never be serious?" protested Mrs. West. "I can't, mother," cried Dorothy, jumping up and walking over to the window. "No girl ever really knows why she wants to marry a man," she remarked, gazing out of the window. "It's just a feeling. I've got a feeling that I want to take care of John Dene, and--and--oh, mother! see to his boots," she finished with a laugh. "I like Mr. Dene, Dorothy," said Mrs. West with a decisiveness that was with her uncommon. "I know you do," said Dorothy mischievously. "That's what I'm afraid of." "Dorothy dear, you mustn't," began Mrs. West. "And," continued Dorothy relentlessly, "I won't have any poaching. I don't mind his being nice to you," she continued, leaving the window and planting herself in front of her mother, "because you really are rather nice." She tilted her head on one side, a picture of impudence. "Now, Mrs. West," she said, "the sooner we understand each other the better." Again she was back on the stool at her mother's feet. For some minutes there was silence.