She would have shrunk from the suggestion that it flattered her woman's heart to find that a man, much younger than herself, could turn to her for inspiration. And then there was the link between them--'the Cause'--daily growing stronger, and Jill's open scepticism, that cut her mother to the quick. Roddy, of course, was only a boy! Mrs. Uniacke smiled faintly. You expected your son to break away early or later from "home" opinions. Never once in this tangled maze did she see the weakness of her position: a champion of woman's rights--refusing the same to her only daughter. Again she read Stephen's letter. Then, with a determined hand, she drew her cheque book nearer to her. The parasite had gained the day. She told herself it was for the Cause. The faint suspicion of dishonesty she thrust rigidly from her mind, realizing subconsciously that to place her action on other grounds was to open up a dangerous question. But, for the first time in her life, sentiment stole into the friendship. The fault--if it were--was an error of love; she could not bear to part from Stephen. Then she raised her head and listened, hearing the front door open and shut, and Jill's voice, happy, young: "Mother!--Mother ... Where are you, Mother?" She slipped the cheque book in the drawer with the open letter and turned the key, her cheeks flushed, her head high. She did not need Jill's advice! "Here I am----" she went to the stairs and the girl raced up, two steps at a time. "Oh, Mother--I've got such a lot to tell you--it's been such a lovely day!" Impulsively her arms went out, seizing the slight, waiting figure in a childish hug, her fresh mouth pressed upon her mother's cheek. "There!--I'm feeling so happy. I got 'Excellent' for Ancient History and I'm top at Algebra this week. And Judy Severn's giving a party--and she wants me to come and bring a man. Peter's away, but I thought, perhaps, I'd ask Mr. Bethune--what do you think? It's on the 9th. A real dance." Madly she waltzed her mother round. "Stop, Jill!" Mrs. Uniacke laughed--the girl's gaiety was infectious. She dropped breathless into a chair, Jill on her knees by her side. "Isn't it ripping?" She pulled off her cap and threw it neatly on the bed, her dark, ruffled hair like a cloud round her excited, pretty face. "Jill--your hat!" Her mother frowned. "Well, it's so old--it can't hurt--and rabbit skin!" Her happy laugh took the sting out of the words. "But that reminds me--about my frock...? I've not a single thing to wear." "And what about your white muslin?" An anxious look crept into Jill's eyes at the note in Mrs. Uniacke's voice. "Oh--Mother--I _can't_ ... not to Judy's party! And it's _so_ short--up to my knees." She sighed. "I wish I'd stop growing. I let it down, with a false hem, you remember--when Aunt Elizabeth came here?"