“No, of course, you don’t _need_ to; but, still, a girl should always look as pretty as she _can_; she can never tell who is going to see her. James, ask at the express-office if there are any packages. I sent for some of the new books. Yes, that is for me. Now, my dear, you’ll have something nice to read.” “You are too good, Mrs. Leverich; you are just spoiling me,” said Dosia. In these three days she had been the recipient of so many gifts and favors that it was difficult to know how to vary her expression of gratitude. She had already been presented with a white China silk tea-gown, the scores of two of the latest light operas, and an amethyst belt-pin. The little music-room had been fitted out appropriately from floor to ceiling, and framed with palms; Mrs. Leverich had spent the whole of one morning with a corps of servants, planning, directing, and approving. Dosia had hardly time to frame a wish before it was forestalled. “It is such a comfort to me to have you here,” continued Mrs. Leverich, sinking back among her cushions. “You may take the Five-mile Drive, James. If I had only had a daughter! I said this morning to Mr. Leverich, ‘I am going to pretend she’s my daughter while she’s here.’ You don’t mind, dear? You will let me have you for my very own?” “Yes, indeed,” answered Dosia, with the warmth of youth. “I have never wished for a son. Boys are a terrible responsibility. There is Lawson.” “Yes,” said Dosia, as she paused. “He has always been such a trial. We have given him every advantage—and he _has_ every advantage naturally; but it’s no use. Mr. Leverich says he will make one more effort for him, and if that is no use he must go. We have simply done all we can. I would not speak so openly to you if you had not been staying in the house, but you could not help hearing.” “Hearing——?” “Yes, these nights when he has come home so late. George Sutton brought him home Tuesday night from the train—he couldn’t walk alone. I was so ashamed at the noise!” “Oh!” breathed Dosia in a horrified undertone. She added, “Has he always been like this?” “More or less. At first it was only when he went away; but he couldn’t keep any position long, because he _would_ go away for days and days at a stretch. And now it is getting to be—_any_ time. I’m sure we have done everything in this world to keep it quiet. And Lawson has every advantage naturally; it is only this—drinking. Of course, no one can have any confidence in him; I always felt that it was hopeless, from the first.”