"Mamma, may I present Mr. Barrison," said Diana serenely. Philip's smile vanished and he bowed. His manner, Mrs. Wilbur thought, was unpleasantly good. "And this is Herbert Gayne, Mamma," went on Diana. The boy's eyes roved to the plump lady, who came forward and took his hand. "I knew your grandfather, my dear child," she said, and she glanced over his shabby figure, appalled that the name of Loring could ever fall so low. Bertie said nothing. What did the lady mean by talking about his grandfather? No one but his mother had ever done that. A slight smile touched his lips as Mrs. Lowell greeted him, and then he looked over his shoulder and all about the flower-strewn room. "Your uncle is not here," she said quietly. "He isn't coming, Bertie. We are going to have lunch alone." The boy's melancholy eyes lifted to hers questioningly. She nodded reassuringly. "Mr. Barrison, this is the key to Bert's room," said Diana. "Will you go up with him and then return here? Luncheon will be ready." Philip took the key, and, wondering, escorted his charge to the elevator. "Bert's room," he said to himself. When they arrived there, the flowers on the dresser caused him to remember Matt Blake's absurd account, and he felt his first questioning as to whether ice-cream and a show or two did really cover the plans of these ladies for the boy. "But where is Uncle Nick?" was his mental query. Herbert, second, looked about his bathroom. He had never seen anything in the slightest degree like it. "Treating you pretty well, aren't they, old man?" said Philip, opening his bag and taking out the boy's worn brush and broken comb. "Uncle Nick will be mad," said Bert. "I heard Mrs. Lowell say that he wasn't coming," remarked Philip. "Of course--he'll come," returned the boy. "And he'll--he'll beat me." "Bet you a thousand dollars he won't," said Philip. "Have you any money with you?" The boy felt in his pockets and brought forth a penny. "That's all right," said Philip gayly. "If your Uncle Nick beats you, I'll give you a thousand dollars. If he doesn't, you are to give me that penny. Understand?" Philip's smile was infectious. The corners of the boy's mouth twitched a little. The flowers on the dresser smelled sweet, so did the soap he was using. It was all like a wonderful dream, but over its brightness hung a dark cloud: Uncle Nick. "All right," he said vaguely. "Say, make it snappy, boy. I'm as hungry as a bear, aren't you? Here's a nailbrush. Better use it." Bert hurried, and finally dried his hands and brushed his hair obediently. As much as he noticed anybody he had always noticed and liked Philip from the day that he watched him paint the Inn sign, and now, in spite of his apprehensions, he felt some stimulation from the company of this big strong man who was going to give him a thousand dollars if Uncle Nick should beat him. While he was brushing his hair, the telephone rang. Philip answered it. It was Diana speaking.