Then came some music, in which Oliver sang and Miss Clendenning played his accompaniments--the old plantation melodies, not the new songs--and next the "wrappings up" in the hall, the host and hostess and the whole party moving out of the drawing-room in a body. Here Nathan, with great gallantry, insisted on getting down on his stiff marrow-bones to put on Miss Clendenning's boots, while the young men and Oliver tied on the girls' hoods, amid "good-byes" and "so glads" that he could come home if only for a day, and that he had not forgotten them, Oliver's last words being whispered in Miss Clendenning's ear informing her that he would come over in the morning and see her about a matter of the greatest importance. And so the door was shut on the last guest. When the hall was empty Oliver kissed his father good-night, and, slipping his arm around his mother's waist, as he had always done when a boy, the two went slowly upstairs to his little room. He could not wait a minute longer. He must unburden his heart about Margaret. This was what he had come for. If his mother had only seen her it would be so much easier, he said to himself as he pushed open his bedroom door. "You are greatly improved, my son," she said, with a tone of pride in her voice. "I see the change already." She had lighted the candle and the two were seated on the bed, his arm still around her. "How, mother?" "Oh, in everything. The boy is gone out of you. You are more reposeful; more self-reliant. I like your modesty too." She could tell him of his faults, she could also tell him of his virtues. "And the summer has done you good," she continued. "I felt sure it would. Mr. Slade has been a steadfast friend of yours from the beginning. Tell me now about your new friends. This Miss Grant--is she not the same girl you wrote me about, some mouths ago--the one who drew with you at the art school? Do you like her people?" This thought was uppermost in her mind--had been in fact ever since she first saw Margaret's name in his letters. "Her mother is lovely and she has got a brother--a Dartmouth man--who is a fine fellow. I liked him from the first moment I saw him;" Oliver answered simply, wondering how he would begin. "Is her father living?" "Yes." "What kind of a man is he?" "Well--of course, he is not like our people. He is a--well--he always says just what he thinks, you know. But he is a man of character and position." He was speaking for Margaret now. "They have more family portraits than we have." This was said in a tone that was meant to carry weight. "And people of education?" "Oh, I should certainly say so. It is nothing but books all over the house. Really, he has more books than Dad." This statement was to strengthen the one regarding the family ancestors--both telling arguments about Kennedy Square. "And this girl--is she a lady?"