“Dear me!” he said, as arm-in-arm, the gust of welcome having subsided, they walked from the station. “Dear me! I wouldn’t have believed I could be so happy and excited. I haven’t been kissed on a railway platform since——” “When?” He hesitated. “Oh, a very long while ago.” His thoughts strayed back over a chasm of years, to the time when this girl’s mother, in the first flights of their courtship, embarrassed him grievously by the publicity of her affections. “I was thinking of your mother,” he said at last. “Oh!” replied Mornice, who was hoping for a more spirited confidence. “You know,” he went on, “when I see you, I sometimes wish I had been a little more tolerant. It is a wonderful possession—a child of one’s own.” “You might not have liked me so well,” said Mornice gaily. Her face took more serious lines. “I was only fourteen when she cleared out and left me on my own—but it wouldn’t have been any good—I can see that. She wasn’t a bit nice, I’m afraid.” There was a quality of frankness about Mornice. She invariably spoke her mind. A bad mother was none the better for being her own. Mrs. Harrington May, late Mrs. Eliphalet Cardomay, _née_ Blanche Cannon, was not a lady to inspire affection in other than masculine hearts, and even there not a quality to endure. “Then you do not miss your mother?” “Not a bit.” “No,” said Eliphalet thoughtfully; “and no more do I. Well, well; I have arranged with the syndicate—yes, I had to climb down about playing ‘Hamlet,’ and now we are going to put up ‘The Night Cry,’ after all. The cast is engaged and we start rehearsing here this week.” “Oh, that’s fine,” said Mornice. Then with a shade of nervousness, “And who have you got to do my part?” “Yourself, of course.” “Me?—Oh, but, Pummy, I can’t. Didn’t I write and tell you? Thought I had—at least, I didn’t think I had, exactly, but I meant to.” “Tell me what?” Eliphalet looked genuinely startled. “Oh, Daddy fatherums, don’t—don’t look so serious, please. It’s—I—— Well, I met a young man—a boy—a gentleman—oh, yes, always the perfect gentleman. No, but he’s a dear, really; I mean, he’s awfully nice and _very_ clever, and—— Well, I didn’t want to be a drag on you, and you never actually told me you were going to open, so I didn’t see how I could very well refuse—could I?” Eliphalet stopped dead, with: “Good God, what are you talking about?” “Yes. I knew you’d disapprove, and I knew if I waited to ask you, you wouldn’t let me; so I took my courage in both hands, shut my eyes, and said, ‘Yes.’ But it’s only for six weeks.” From his tail-pocket Eliphalet drew a large silk handkerchief and mopped his brow. “What is only for six weeks?” he managed to ask. “I told you—this Cinema engagement, of course.” “Thank you,” he said faintly. “If you don’t mind, we will go into this dairy and take a glass of milk.”