At the end of the week, after he had seen Kate five more times, he knew what was the matter with him. For the first time in his young life he was madly in love! He didn’t know whether his love was reciprocated or not. Kate seemed to like him pretty well; she was glad to stay at home and have him call when she might have gone out with some other chap. He had never even attempted to kiss her. She wasn’t the kind of girl who invited that sort of thing. He went with her steadily for another month, taking her to movies, or dances, on the evenings he didn’t spend at her home. “What did his mother think about his going out every night?” he wondered. She never questioned him when evening after evening he kissed her good-night and said: “I won’t be out very late, mother, just going for a walk”; or, “Going to a show”; or, “Going to a dance to-night.” Finally he felt that he must say something to her—sort of pave the way as it were. She must know that he was going about with a girl, or else some day it might prove too much of a shock. “Dearest,” he said one evening, after he had kissed her good-by, “don’t you think my going out like this every evening sort of—well—sort of funny?” “Why, no, dear,” she answered bravely, struggling hard to look unconcerned lest he read the contradiction to her words in her face. “I’m glad to see you go—you were getting into a rut, staying in so much. You’re too young to do that.” “It’s a joy to have a mother who looks at things as sensibly as you do,” he answered, patting her hand affectionately. “You see, dear, I—I’ve met a very nice little girl—and I enjoy going about with her.” “Yes—dear——” Although she smiled, the mother’s heart held a leaden weight. “That’s nice,” was her comment. “I’m going to bring her to meet you some day,” he told her, but he was careful not to say too much. A month later Howard proposed to Kate. One Sunday afternoon and they had gone for a long walk. Everything seemed to be in his favor. The day could not have been more perfect—one of those glorious, crisp, sunshiny days every New Yorker knows and loves. They came to a bench in one of the smaller parks, and sat down to rest. The sky had never seemed so blue nor the grass so green. The birds sang more sweetly than he had ever known they could, and the flowers about them had wafted a fragrance that was heady. What a wonderful place this old world was after all, he thought, as he reached for her hand. Just made for love and joy and youth! “Katie, dear,” he said simply as his grip tightened on the capable little fingers, “I—I want to tell you that I love you very, very dearly.” “Oh—Howard—” She hung her head. “Do you—like me—a little?” He lifted her chin, and looked into her eyes. “Of course—I like you!” She was blushing rosy red. “But not a little! I—I like you a whole lot.”