Her daughter got up suddenly and crossed over to her mother. "Every one but you, Muzzie? Can't you manage to--pity me--a little? I think I could stand being pitied, just now." It was indeed a day for being mothered. There was a need which even the best and most understanding of stepfathers could not fill, and Mildred Lorimer, looking into her white face and her mourning eyes melted suddenly and allowed herself to be cuddled and somewhat comforted but the heights of comforting Honor she could not scale. "I think," said the girl at length, "I'd like to go up to my room and rest for a little while, if you don't mind, Muzzie,--and Stepper." "Right, T. S. You'll want to be fresh for to-morrow." "Do, dear--and I'll have Kada bring you up some tea. Rest until dinner time, because Mrs. Van Meter's dining with us," she broke off as she saw the small quiver which passed over her daughter's face and defended herself. "I had to ask her, Honor. I couldn't--in common decency--avoid it. She's so devoted to you, and think what she's done for you, Honor!" Honor sighed. "Very well. But will you make her promise not to let Carter know I am coming?" "My dear, how could she? You'll be there yourself as soon as a letter." "She might telegraph." She turned to her stepfather. "Will you make her promise, Stepper?" "I will, Top Step. Run along and rest. I daresay there will be some of the Old Guard in to see you this evening." He walked with her to the door and opened it for her. The small amenities of life had always his devoted attention. He smiled down at her. "_Rest!_" he said. "I can rest, now, Stepper." It was true. When she reached the haven of her big blue room she found herself relaxed and relieved. Again the direct simplicity of her nature upheld her; she had not found Jimsy, but she would find him; she was going to him without a day's delay; she could "rest in action." The soft-footed, soft-voiced Kada brought her a tea tray and arranged it deftly on a small table by the window. He smiled incessantly and kept sucking in his breath in his shy and respectful pleasure. "Veree glod," he said as the gardener had said before him, "Veree _glod_! I lige veree moach you comin' home! Now when thad Meestair Jeemsie comin' home too, happy days all those days!" He had brought her two kinds of tiny sandwiches which she had favored in the old tea times, chopped olives and nuts in one, cream cheese and dates in the other, and there was a plate of paper-thin cookies and some salted almonds and he had put a half blown red rose on the shining napkin. "Kada, you are very kind. You always do everything so beautifully! How are you coming on with your painting?" "Veree glod, thank-you-veree-moach!" He bowed in still delight. "You must show me your pictures in the morning, Kada." "Thank-you-veree-moach! Soon I have one thousand dollar save', can go study Art School." "That's fine, Kada!"