"No, it is for you," said the boy. Sad as he may have maintained that it made him to be in this lady's company, her gentle presence was irresistible to him, and his face, as he handed back to her the little stone, had a more interested expression than his friends had ever seen it wear. "It is to go--with the others in--in a bottle," he said. "It is almost too nice for that. I think this is a little gem. Supposing I take it to a lapidary, a man who polishes stones, and have it made into a scarf-pin for you." "No, for you," said the boy. Philip and Diana exchanged a look. "There is 'the greatest thing in the world' working again," he said. They had just finished dessert when Miss Wilbur was called to the telephone. "Ask him to come up to my room," she answered. "Is it--Uncle Nick?" asked Bert, his light extinguished. "No," returned Mrs. Lowell, smiling reassuringly. "You must remember I told you he is not coming." Philip gave the boy his gay smile. "Bert thought he was going to make a thousand dollars," he said; but the rusty springs of the lad's mind could not respond quickly. He looked at the young man questioningly. "Don't you remember," added Philip, "we have a bet up, one thousand dollars to a cent?" The boy did not answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Nothing which could be said was able entirely to quiet the apprehension that his uncle would walk in upon him, surrounded as he was by forbidden companions, and a luxury which his tyrant had not been invited to share. "The gentleman who is coming to call on us is one who knew your mother," said Mrs. Lowell. "You will like to meet him." "Is he--is he angry with her, too?" asked the boy quickly. "No, dear child," returned Mrs. Lowell, compassion surging through her for this young life which knew so much of anger and so little of anything else. The noiseless waiters were removing all signs of the luncheon when the door opened and Luther Wrenn entered. As soon as he had greeted the ladies and Philip had been introduced, his smooth-shaven, keen face at once centered on the boy. Mrs. Lowell, her hand on Bert's arm, guided him to stand. "This is Herbert Gayne, Mr. Wrenn, and this is your mother's friend, Bertie." The boy's plaintive, spiritless gaze and the passive hand which the lawyer took bore out all he had heard of him, but Mrs. Lowell's expressive face was courageous and the lawyer sat down beside Herbert Loring's heir determined not to be outdone by her in hopefulness. Of course, he had been painstakingly told every detail concerning the boy which Mrs. Lowell had discovered, and it was a very kindly look with which he regarded his new client as they were seated near together. "I brought my introduction with me, Herbert," he said, and feeling in a breast-pocket he drew forth the card photograph which had yesterday been put into his hands.