The first time it had been quite by accident. Howard had been lying on the couch one Sunday afternoon reading “The Times.” He had fallen asleep, and the paper slipped to the floor. She picked it up, and the name “Benton” caught her eye. It was a small item saying that Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Benton had returned from Paris, and had reopened “The Castle,” where they expected to entertain extensively during the coming season. After that, she searched the paper every day, but she never saw another article until one day, she read of the departure of Hugh Benton for California for an indefinite stay. On the other hand, how was she to know that at times Howard was lonely and unhappy? He was just a boy—not quite twenty-three. All day long he worked hard, and then came home to spend his evenings with her. It was true that he loved her devotedly, and that he rejoiced in the thought of being able to take care of her, but just the same, he was young, and at times he craved young society. The monotony began to get on his nerves. The worst of it all was that he couldn’t see where it would ever change; but he wouldn’t worry his mother, so he smiled and laughed always, and made her believe he was contented and happy—just as she never permitted him to know of her days of suffering, of her heartaches and longing, her hours of loneliness. In front of the boy she worshiped, she was always bright and smiling. They were sitting down to dinner one evening when Howard, shyly and half shame-facedly told his mother of a dance he would like to attend. “I wonder if you would mind, dearest, if I went?” he asked. “Why, no dear,” she answered heartily. “I’d be glad to have you go anywhere for a little pleasure. You work so hard you need more recreation.” “But you know, I don’t like to leave you alone evenings, mother,” the boy demurred. “Even when I go to the first show at the movies, and you won’t go with me, I’m uneasy until I get back to you.” “That’s foolish, dear. You shouldn’t feel like that.” She smiled at him lovingly. “I’m rather tired at night, and I usually have some mending or darning to do. But about this dance, shall I get your dress-suit out of the trunk? You haven’t worn it in two years and I’m afraid you’ve outgrown it.” “No, indeed, mother!” He laughed heartily. “First of all, you’ll never find it! I sold it long ago, when we were so hard up, and if I went to this dance in a dress-suit, they’d mob me.” “Why, Howard!” She was becoming alarmed. “What sort of a dance is it?” “Oh, it’s a nice enough dance all right, but it isn’t a society affair.” He laughed again. “It’s just a lot of plain working girls and boys like myself. One of the boys in the office asked me to go.” “That’s fine, dear. It will do you a lot of good. I’ll sponge and press your blue suit and have it all ready for you.”