After the gates were opened, and when at last the school boys had departed and the train was gone, Stephanie remained tragically preoccupied with her personal loss in the departure of Cleland Junior. For he was the first boy she had ever known; and she worshipped him with all the long-pent ardour of a lonely heart. Memory of the sandy youth with golden eyes continued in abeyance, although he had impressed her. It had, in fact, been a new experience for her to be noticed by an older boy; and, although she considered young Grismer homely and a trifle insolent, there remained in her embryonic feminine consciousness the grateful aroma of incense swung before her—incense not acceptable, but still unmistakably incense—the subtle flattery of man. As for young Grismer, reconciliation between him and Jim having been as pleasantly effected as the forcible feeding of a jailed lady on a hunger strike, he sauntered up to Cleland Junior in the car reserved for Saint James School, and said amiably: "Who was the little peach you kissed good-bye, Jim?" The boy’s clear brown eyes narrowed just a trifle. "She’s—my—sister," he drawled. "What about it?" "She’s so pretty—for a kid—that’s all." Jim, eyeing him menacingly, replied in the horrid vernacular: "That’s no sty on _your_ eye, is it?" "F’r heaven’s sake!" protested Grismer. "Are you still carrying that old chip on your shoulder? I thought it was all squared." Jim considered him for a few moments. "All right," he said; "it’s squared, Oswald.... Only, somehow I can’t get over feeling that there are some more fights ahead of us.... Have a caramel?" Chiltern Grismer joined Cleland Senior on the way to the street, and they strolled together toward the station entrance. Stephanie walked in silence beside Cleland, holding rather tightly to his arm, not even noticing Grismer, and quite overwhelmed by her own bereavement. Grismer murmured in his dry, guarded voice: "She’s pretty enough and nicely enough behaved to be your own daughter." Cleland nodded; a deeper flush of annoyance spread over his handsome, sanguine face. He resented it when people did not take Stephanie for his own flesh and blood; and it even annoyed him that Grismer should mention a matter upon which he had become oddly sensitive. "I hope you won’t ever be sorry, Cleland," remarked the other in his dry, metallic voice. "Yes, indeed, I hope you won’t regret your philanthropic venture." "I am very happy in my little daughter," replied Cleland quietly. "She’s turning out quite satisfactory?" "Of course!" snapped the other.