Marjorie winced, but she spoke cheerfully. “Love is the foundation of all real happiness, my dear. I’m glad you have the right idea. You must stay and have supper with us—it won’t take a second to set another place. I’m anxious to have you tell me all about yourself.” “I—I don’t think I can stay.” Katie was evidently uncomfortable. “I was just goin’ to run down to see Mrs. Lambert—before goin’ home. Howard can come over after his supper.” “But you mustn’t run away like this,” Marjorie urged. “I’ve only just met you! We’ve so much to talk about, you know. Come, Howard, you coax her to stay.” “Of course, she’ll stay, mother.” Howard removed Katie’s hat without asking her, whispering in her ear: “Stay if she wants you to, dear.” “That’s fine!” Marjorie started for the kitchen. “I know you’ll excuse me for a few minutes.” Howard opened the door and carried her basket into the kitchen for her, then he hurried back to Katie and squeezed her joyously. “Now, wasn’t she fine? What did I tell you?” “Whew!” Katie made a stab at whistling. “She’s so grand she makes the chills run up and down my back! Do you know, Howard, all the time she was talkin’ to me, I felt as if she was lookin’ right inside of me—through my clothes and all.” “Mother’s true blue all right!” Howard declared proudly. “The way she took it is a great relief to me. I confess I was terribly nervous for a minute. I hope we won’t have any trouble with your mother, dear?” “Humph! My Ma’s goin’ to be tickled to death! Besides, she ain’t got nothin’ to say about me—I told you I’ve always been self-supportin’.” In the kitchen Marjorie was gathering up the dishes and cutlery for the extra place at the table. Her tears were falling so fast they almost blinded her. She kept brushing them away as she whispered over and over to herself: “Dear God, help me to-night. Give me the strength to make my boy—happy!” CHAPTER XXI Howard’s mother arranged a place at the table next to him for Katie, then brought in a platter of cold meats, some potato salad, and a pot of coffee. Howard, as was his custom, held the chairs for his mother and their guest, then seated himself. “I hope you like cold meat and potato salad, Katie?” Marjorie asked, as she began to serve. “Howard prefers it to anything else on Sunday evening, especially during the warm weather.” “I think it’s fine,” Katie answered, playing nervously with her napkin, “and it saves a lot of work—cooking.” “Don’t you care about housework?” “Well, I ain’t crazy about it, but it’s got to be done. Ma says: ‘’tain’t no use killin’ yourself over cleanin’ a house—it only gets dirty all over again.’ And Ma’s nearly always right.” Marjorie sat almost dumfoundedly looking back and forth between Katie and Howard. Surely she must be dreaming all this. Her wonderful boy—intending to marry this girl who couldn’t even speak grammatically. “Please pour my coffee, mother.” Howard was anxious to say something.