Blair Maitland whistled. "Well, I'll tell her myself. It was really to spare her that I wanted you to do it. I always rile her, somehow, poor dear mother. Nannie, this house reeks of cabbage! Does she live on it?" Blair threw up his arms with a wordless gesture of disgust. "I'm so sorry," Nannie said; "but don't tell her you don't like it." The door across the hall opened, and there was a heavy step. The brother and sister looked at each other. "Blair, _be nice!_" Nannie entreated; her soft eyes under the meekly parted blond hair were very anxious. He did not need the caution; whenever he was with his mother, the mere instinct of self-preservation made him anxious to "be nice." As Mrs. Maitland had her instinct of self-preservation, too, there had been, in the last year, very few quarrels. Instead there was, on his part, an exaggerated politeness, and on her part, a pathetic effort to be agreeable. The result was, of course, entire absence of spontaneity in both of them. Mrs. Maitland, her knitting in her hands, came tramping into the parlor; the piece of thread lace was pushed awry, but there had been further preparation for the occasion: at first her son and daughter did not know what the change was; then suddenly both recognized it, and exchanged an astonished glance. "Mother!" cried Blair incredulously, "_earrings!_" The dull color on the high cheek-bones deepened; she smiled sheepishly. "Yes; I saw 'em in my bureau drawer, and put 'em on. Haven't worn 'em for years; but Blair, here, likes pretty things." (Her son, under his breath, groaned: "pretty!") "So you are off tomorrow, Blair?" she said, politely; she ran her hand along the yellowing bone needles, and the big ball of pink worsted rolled softly down on to the floor. As she glanced at him over her steel-rimmed spectacles, her eyes softened as an eagle's might when looking at her young. "I wish his father could see him," she thought. "Next time you come home," she said, "it will be to go to work!" "Yes," Blair said, smiling industriously. "Pity you have to study this summer; I'd like to have you in the office now." "Yes; I'm awfully sorry," he said with charming courtesy, "but I feel I ought to brush up on one or two subjects, and I can do it better abroad than here. I'm going to paint a little, too. I'll be very busy all summer." "Why don't you paint our new foundry?" said Mrs. Maitland. She laughed with successful cheerfulness; Blair liked jokes, and this, she thought, complacently, was a joke. "Well, _I_ shall manage to keep busy, too!" she said. "I suppose so," Blair agreed. He was lounging on the arm of Nannie's chair, and felt his sleeve plucked softly. "Now," said Nannie. But Blair was not ready. "You are always busy," he said; "I wish I had your habit of industry." Mrs. Maitland's smile faded. "I wish you had." "Oh, well, you've got industry enough for this family," Blair declared. But the flattery did not penetrate.