He did not understand at all the sudden dropping of her look, nor the uneasy turning away, nor the quick constraint that came. He was hurt with a sudden sharp sting that he had never known before and the ache of unreasoning jealousy at the bare thought of what might have happened during the summer. "I'm awfully glad to see you," she said, but the words sounded formal. He followed her into the parlor puzzled, irritated by something he did not understand, something that lay underneath everything she said, and seemed to interpose itself as a barrier between them and the old open feeling of camaraderie. "Mother will be so glad to see you," she said, after a little moment of awkwardness. "I must call her." This maneuver completed his bewilderment, which increased when, Mrs. Story joining them, suddenly the Jean Story of old returned with the same cordiality and the same enthusiasm. She asked a hundred questions, leading him on until he was launched into an account of his summer experiences, the little bits of real life that had brought home to him the seriousness of the world that waited outside. He spoke not as the Stover of sophomore year, filled with the enthusiasm of discovery, but with a maturer mind, which had begun to reflect and to reason upon what had come into his knowledge. Mrs. Story, sunk in the old high-backed arm-chair near the fire, followed him, too, aware also of the change in the boy, wondering what lay in the mind of her daughter, camped at her knee on the hearth rug, listening so intently and yet clinging to her as though for instinctive protection. Stover spoke only of outward things; the thoughts that lay beneath, that would have come out so eagerly before the girl, did not appear in the presence of another. As he understood nothing of this sudden introduction of a third into the old confidential relationship, he decided to be more formal than the girl, and rose while still his audience's attention was held by his account. "It's been awfully jolly to see you again," he said with a perfect manner to Mrs. Stover. "But you're going to stay to dinner," she said, with a little smile. "Awfully sorry, but I've got a dozen things to do," he said, in the same careful, matter-of-fact tone. "Bob sent word he'd come later." Jean Story had not urged him. He went to her with mechanical cheeriness, saying: "Good-by. You're looking splendidly." She did not answer, being in one of her silent moods. Mrs. Story went with him towards the door, with a few practical housekeeping questions on the ménage that had just begun. As they were in the ante-room, Jim Hunter entered and, greeting them, passed into the salon. Stover, deaf to anything else, heard her greeting: "Why, Jim, I _am_ glad to see you." Mrs. Story was asking him a question, but he did not hear it. He heard only the echoes of what seemed to him the joy in her laugh. "If you need any rugs let me know," said Mrs. Story in patient repetition.