Harry had been accustomed to meet such prudent counsels with protests of a romantic order; but Mrs. Freere, a shrewd woman, had for some weeks past noticed that the protests were becoming rather less vehement, and decidedly more easy for her to control. When she repeated her advice one day, in the spring after Andy Hayes came back from Canada, Harry looked at her for a moment and said, "Would you drop me altogether if I did, Lily?" He called her Lily when they were alone. "I'm married; you haven't dropped me," said Mrs. Freere with a smile. "Oh, that's different. I shouldn't marry a woman unless I was awfully in love with her." "I don't think I ought to make that a reason for finally dropping you, because you'll probably be awfully in love with several. Put that difficulty--if it is one--out of your mind. We shall be friends." "And you wouldn't mind? You--you wouldn't think it--?" He wanted to ask her whether she would think it what, on previous occasions, he had said that he would think it. Mrs. Freere laughed. "Oh, of course your wife would be rather a bore--just at first, anyhow. But, you know, I can even contemplate my life without you altogether, Harry." She was really fond of him, but she was not a woman given to illusions either about her friends or about herself. Harry did not protest that he could not contemplate his life without Mrs. Freere, though he had protested that on more than one of those previous occasions. Mrs. Freere leant against the mantelpiece, smiling down at him in the armchair. "Seen somebody?" she asked. Harry blushed hotly. "You're an awfully good sort, Lily," he said. She laughed a little, then sighed a little. Well, it had been very agreeable to have this handsome boy at her beck and call, gracefully adoring, flattering her vanity, amusing her leisure, giving her the luxury of reflecting that she was behaving well in the face of considerable temptation--she really felt entitled to plume herself on this exploit. But such things could not last--Mrs. Freere knew that. The balance was too delicate; a topple over on one side or the other was bound to come; she had always meant that the toppling over, when it came, should be on the safe side--on to the level ground, not over the precipice. A bump is a bump, there's no denying it, but it's better than a broken neck. Mrs. Freere took her bump smiling, though it certainly hurt a little. "Is she very pretty?" He jumped up from the armchair. He was highly serious about the matter, and that, perhaps, may be counted a grace in him. "I suppose I shall do it--if I can. But I'm hanged if I can talk to you about it!" "That's rather nice of you. Thank you, Harry." He bowed his comely head, with its waving hair, over her hand and kissed it. "Good-bye, Harry," she said.