Missy wasn't exactly sure she knew what “subtle” meant, but she felt that Jim was being subtle. Oh, the romance of it! To give her a brass button he was willing to suffer punishment. He was like a knight of old! As Jim was severing the button with his penknife, Missy, chancing to glance upward, noted that the curtain of an upstairs window was being held back by an invisible hand. That was her mother's window. “I must go in now,” she said hurriedly. “Mother's waiting up for me.” “Well I guess I'll see you soon. You're up at Kitty's a lot, aren't you?” “Yes,” she murmured, one eye on the upstairs window. So many things she had to say now. A little while ago she hadn't been able to talk. Now, for no apparent reason, there was much to say, yet no time to say it. How queer Life was! “To-morrow, I expect,” she hurried on. “Good night, Mr. Henley.” “Good night--Missy.” With his daring, gleaming smile. Inside the hall door, mother, wrapper-clad, met her disapprovingly. “Missy, where in the world did you get all those flowers?” “Ji--Kitty's cousin gave them to me.” “For the land's sake!” It required a moment for mother to find further words. Then she continued accusingly: “I thought you were to come home with Mrs. Allen and Kitty.” “Kitty got sick, and her mother had to take her home.” “Why didn't you come with them?” “Oh, mother! I was having such a good time!” For the minute Missy had forgotten there had been a shred of anything but “good time” in the whole glorious evening. “And Mrs. Allen said I might stay and come home with Jim and--” “That will do,” cut in mother severely. “You've taken advantage of me, Missy. And don't let me hear evening party from you again this summer!” The import of this dreadful dictum did not penetrate fully to Missy's consciousness. She was too confused in her emotions, just then, to think clearly of anything. “Go up to bed,” said mother. “May I put my flowers in water first?” “Yes, but be quick about it.” Missy would have liked to carry the flowers up to her own room, to sleep there beside her while she slept, but mother wouldn't understand and there would be questions which she didn't know how to answer. Mother was offended with her. Dimly she felt unhappy about that, but she was too happy to be definitely unhappy. Anyway, mother followed to unfasten her dress, to help take down her hair, to plait the mouse-coloured braids. She wanted to be alone, yet she liked the touch of mother's hands, unusually gentle and tender. Why was mother gentle and tender with her when she was offended?