“I think I do understand,” he said gently, “and I love you so much I guess you’ll have to have it your way.” “Gee, you are good, Howard—and some day when I learn everything, you’re goin’ to be proud of me!” “Well, then,” he tried to throw off his disappointment, “I suppose you know I’ll have to take care of my mother.” “Of course,” she answered emphatically. “It’s only right for you to do that.” “Well, you know, I don’t make a million a month. It will mean a lot of scrimping.” “That will be all right with me,” she assured him, “I’m used to scrimpin’. I ain’t never done nothin’ else since I can remember.” “We’ll have to look about for a flat. I’d like to stay in this neighborhood in order to be near mother.” “I don’t see why we don’t keep your flat,” she suggested, as a vision of the “handsome” furniture appeared before her. “It would be easier to get a couple of rooms for your mother.” “Turn mother out of her home!” For a moment he was angry with Kate Walsh. What could she mean? “Impossible!” He shut his teeth with a click. “Don’t get sore at me, Howard.” There were tears in her voice, and a tremble that soothed the anger. After all, this little girl didn’t understand, he remembered. It was her training. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by that,” she went on as she timidly touched his arm. “I was just tryin’ to figure out the most savin’ way.” “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to get cross with you—but I can’t bear to think about hurting my mother.” Child as she was, though, Kate Walsh was a true daughter of Eve. She knew what she wanted. And she knew how to get it. From the moment of her first view of the dainty little apartment Marjorie had worked so hard to make homelike and pleasing, this little child of the people whose beauty had bound Howard Benton to her in bonds unbreakable, had made up her mind that it should be her own. She slipped her arm through Howard’s and reached downward with her hand till the warm fingers found their way into his own. Her whole warm, round little body snuggled up to him. “I don’t know much, as I told you, dear, but I think you’re kind of silly, Howard,” she began coaxing. “I just bet your mother would say the same thing herself. First of all, she’d never be wantin’ no four-room flat all by herself. Besides, ain’t it easier for one person to move into a couple of rooms than for us to have to hustle around and buy furniture and things?” “Maybe—you’re right,” he admitted. “But it seems so cruel, I’m afraid she wouldn’t see it as we do——” “I just bet she would!” the girl interrupted. “She’s got lots of good sense. Why don’t you ask her and see?” “Yes—I suppose that would be the proper thing to do.” But he sighed at the prospect of such a proposed interview with the mother who had done so much for him; been so much to him.