"How do you do?" she said coldly. "You must pardon me, I am afraid, for not saying the usual things. I have been very much upset." The studied insolence of the apology was infinitely worse than the coldness of her manner. I waited for a moment to control myself before answering her. "I am afraid that you are really ill," I said as cordially as I could. "I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I did not expect you quite so soon, and I had some errands." "It doesn't matter," she said indifferently. Her manner put me aside from her consideration as if I had been a child or a servant. She turned to Dicky. "Are we almost there, dear?" The warmth of her tones to him, the love displayed in every inflection, set out in more bitter contrast the coldness with which she was treating me. "Right here now," as the taxi drew up to the door of the apartment house. There was a peculiar inflection in Dicky's voice. I stole a glance at him. He was gazing at his mother with a puzzled look. I fancied I saw also a trace of displeasure. But it vanished in another minute as he sprang to the ground, paid the driver and helped his mother and me out. She leaned heavily on his arm as we went up the stairs to the third floor upon which our apartment was. At the door, Katie, who evidently had heard the taxicab, stood smiling broadly. "This is Katie, mother," Dicky said kindly. "She will help take care of you." "How do you do, Katie?" The words were the same, but the tones were much kinder than her greeting to me. Dicky assisted her into the living room. She sank into the armchair, and Dicky took off her hat and loosened her cloak. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, and her face looked so drawn and white that I felt alarmed. "Katie, prepare a cup of strong tea immediately," I directed, and Katie vanished. "Is there nothing I can do for you, Mrs. Graham?" I approached her chair. "Nothing, thank you. You may save the maid the trouble of preparing that tea if you will. I could not possibly drink it. I always carry my own tea with me, and prepare it myself. If it is not too much trouble, Dicky, will you get me a pot of hot water and some cream? I have everything else here." I really felt sorry for Dicky. He caught the tension in the atmosphere, and looked from his mother to me with a helpless caught-between-two-fires-expression. With masculine obtuseness he put his foot in it in his endeavor to remedy matters. "Why do you call my mother Mrs. Graham, Madge?" he said querulously. "She is your mother now as well as mine, you know." "I am nothing of the kind." His mother spoke sharply. "Of all the idiotic assumptions, that is the worst, that marriage makes close relatives, and friends of total strangers. Your wife and I may learn to love each other. Then there will be plenty of time for her to call me mother. As it is, I am very glad she evidently feels as I do about it. Now, Dicky, if you will kindly get me that hot water."