"You--you've been very good to me," she said; and then, the vivid lashes veiling her vivid eyes, her low voice trembling into shyness: "That's why there's just one--one favor I must ask you." "Favors! Between us!" He took her ungloved hands, and pressed them to his lips. "Yes, dear. It's about--about your mother." "Julia!" His tone hardened. "But we discussed all that last time." "We mustn't hurt her more than we can help. We must tell her the truth, before--before we do anything. She's a woman, and perhaps--perhaps she'll understand----" "Aliette----" He hesitated; and her intuition leaped to the cause. "You--you haven't quarreled with her?" Her intuition startled him into reply: "Yes. We have quarreled. But I can't tell you anything about it." She drew away from him, and her eyes grew sorrowful. "Did you quarrel because of anything she said to you about me?" Again he hesitated; again her intuition leaped to the truth. "I've been afraid you might. Something told me, that morning in the park, that she must have guessed. I can't come between you and your mother. You mustn't quarrel with her on my account. Whatever she may have said, you must go to her, tell her everything, and ask her--if she can--to forgive----" "Never!" The very humility angered him. "Never! It's not for her to forgive, but for me----" "Then it _was_ because of me that you quarreled?" "Yes." "Foolish man!" It hurt her desperately to think that his mother should have understood so little; but she knew that she must conceal the hurt. "As if I'd let you quarrel with any one, least of all your mother, on my account. You'll go to her, won't you? You'll tell her that I--that I don't ask for any recognition----" Rudely, obstinately, he interrupted her: "Of course she must recognize you. Either she's on our side or she's against us." "Ronnie"--her eyes suffused with tears--"Ronnie, I told you we'd got to be happy with one another. You make me unhappy--when you speak like that. You make me feel like a thief. You do want me to be happy, don't you?" "Yes. Always." His anger vanished. Bending down, he tried to kiss the tears from her eyes. "Always, darling." "Then won't you"--she was in his arms now; the warmth, the perfume, the very unhappiness of her a fresh thrill--"won't you grant me this one favor? It's the only favor I'll ever ask." "How can I?" "So easily. Just go to her. She's your mother. She loves you, she understands you. But she may not understand--about me. She may think that I'm just--just a dissolute woman. That doesn't matter. Tell her that it doesn't matter. Tell her that I don't want to keep you from her; that until--until we're properly married, you'll be as free to go to her as if"--he could hardly hear the last words--"as if you'd taken any--any ordinary mistress." "Don't, don't!" He strained her to him, fiercely protective. "You're not to speak of yourself like that."