“No.” He rose and began to wander up and down the room. “I’m not tired.--Give me some tea, will you?” He paused before her while she poured the cup, and then, without taking it, turned away to light a cigarette. “Surely there is still time?” she suggested, with her eyes on him. “Time? To finish my plans? Oh, yes--there’s time. But they’re not worth it.” “Not worth it?” She started up, and then dropped back into her seat, ashamed of having betrayed her anxiety. “They are worth as much as they were last week,” she said with an attempt at cheerfulness. “Not to me,” he returned. “I hadn’t seen Darrow’s then.” There was a long silence. Mrs. Peyton sat with her eyes fixed on her clasped hands, and her son paced the room restlessly. “Are they so wonderful?” she asked at length. “Yes.” She paused again, and then said, lifting a tremulous glance to his face: “That makes his offer all the more beautiful.” Dick was lighting another cigarette, and his face was turned from her. “Yes--I suppose so,” he said in a low tone. “They were quite finished, he told me,” she continued, unconsciously dropping her voice to the pitch of his. “Yes.” “Then they will be entered, I suppose?” “Of course--why not?” he answered almost sharply. “Shall you have time to attend to all that and to finish yours too?” “Oh, I suppose so. I’ve told you it isn’t a question of time. I see now that mine are not worth bothering with.” She rose and approached him, laying her hands on his shoulders. “You are tired and unstrung; how can you judge? Why not let me look at both designs to-morrow?” Under her gaze he flushed abruptly and drew back with a half-impatient gesture. “Oh, I’m afraid that wouldn’t help me; you’d be sure to think mine best,” he said with a laugh. “But if I could give you good reasons?” she pressed him. He took her hand, as if ashamed of his impatience. “Dear mother, if you had any reasons their mere existence would prove that they were bad.” His mother did not return his smile. “You won’t let me see the two designs then?” she said with a faint tinge of insistence. “Oh, of course--if you want to--if you only won’t talk about it now! Can’t you see that I’m pretty nearly dead-beat?” he burst out uncontrollably; and as she stood silent, he added with a weary fall in his voice, “I think I’ll go upstairs and see if I can’t get a nap before dinner.” * * * * *