"I see that, too. He does. I can’t deny it. Often when I look at him, I see myself, only—you’ll laugh, I know—only myself as I’d be reflected in the back of a silver spoon. That’s the trouble with Bob—he’s so unformed. You must have noticed it. I suppose it’s the war; and yet I don’t know. He’s always been like that—a dear fellow, but no more than half grown. I dare say that by the time he’s fifty he’ll be something like a man." As there seemed to be no absolute need for a response to this, Jennie waited for more. It came, after another little spell of musing. "He’s talked to me so much about you all through the winter. That’s why I asked you to come down. Mr. Collingham and I feel so tremendously indebted to you for the way you’ve acted." Jennie could only repeat feebly, "The way I’ve acted?" "I mean the way you’ve understood him. Almost any other girl—yes, girls right here in Marillo Park—would have taken him at his word." Jennie’s lips were parted, but unable to frame a question. Mrs. Collingham eyed the spirit lamp. "All the same, that doesn’t excuse _him_. Even a fellow who isn’t half grown should have more sense than to make love to every girl he spends an hour with. One of these days, some girl will catch him, and then he’ll be sorry. That’s why we’ve been so thankful for the kind of influence you’ve had over him, and why my husband and I thought we’d like to do something—well, something a little audacious." Jennie was twisting her fingers and untwisting them, but luckily her hostess, by keeping her eyes on the spirit lamp, didn’t notice this sign of nervousness. Once more she spoke, with a musing half smile. "We—we see a good deal of some one else who keeps talking about you; and—you won’t mind, will you?—of course we’ve drawn our conclusions. We couldn’t help that—could we?—when they were staring us in the face." "Do you mean Mr. Wray?" Jennie asked, with the point-blank helplessness of one who doesn’t know how to hedge. "Oh, I didn’t use the name, now did I? And, as I’ve said, what we’ve seen we’ve seen, and we couldn’t help it. But, of course, if it hadn’t been for Bob, we shouldn’t have seen so quickly." "But he doesn’t know?" Jennie cried, more as query than as affirmation. "No; I suppose he doesn’t. I only mean that as you refused Bob so many times—he told me that—we naturally thought there must be some one else, and when everything pointed that way and Hubert talked of you so much—" She kept this line of reasoning suspended while once more she shifted her ground suddenly. "I wonder if you’ve ever realized how hard it is to show your gratitude toward people to whom you truly and deeply feel grateful?" Jennie mumbled something to the effect that she had never been in that situation.