“And while we’re talking about the best-looking things in the church last night,” she said, “what about you just pulling the wool over all of ’em?” Again Mahala faced her with eyes of candour. “I really don’t think I did,” she said. “Edith was as handsome as a girl well could be last night, and I suspect her dress cost almost twice as much as mine.” “Not if you count all the hours and hours of dainty handwork you put on it,” said Serena. “I’m going through the kitchen and say ‘Howdy’ to Jemima.” “Oh, certainly,” answered Mahala. She turned and preceded Serena to the kitchen. She opened the door, and meeting Jemima’s glance, she gave her a sharp little frown and pulled down the corners of her mouth. There was a negative in the tilt of her head that Jemima well understood. As she stepped aside to let Serena pass, Mahala said to Jemima: “Here’s your friend come to have a visit with you. She’ll be wanting you to tell her everything about Commencement that I didn’t.” “Because it happened to be a secret,” put in Serena. “Exactly,” said Mahala, her eyes hard on Jemima’s face. Jemima shot back the answer for which she was waiting. With peace in her heart so far as Serena was concerned, Mahala closed the door and sought refuge in her room to avoid another unpleasant séance with her mother. At ten o’clock that morning Junior Moreland went into the bank, stopping a moment to chat with the bookkeeper and the cashier. He said jestingly: “I believe I’ll just step back and suggest to the President that I’ve left the bay and the presidential chair is floating on the ocean before me.” He lifted the latest model in straw hats from his handsome dark head and laughed with the employees of the bank. “Don’t you think,” he said, “that I’d better get on the job and give Father a rest? I have a feeling that I’d make a dandy bank president.” With the laugh that went up pleasant on his ears, Junior opened the door of the back office and stepped in. He said to his father: “Dad, forget figures for a minute. I want to ask you something.” Moreland Senior indicated a chair. “All right,” he said, “I am interested in anything you are. Out with it.” Junior hesitated. He was studying as to the best way of approaching his father. Should he begin with what had occurred the night before, or should he go back to the very beginning and explain that ever since he could remember, Mahala had been the one girl with whom he wanted to play, for whom he cared, that from the hour of earliest preconceptions, he had selected for his very own? As he stood hesitating, he felt his father’s eyes on his face and realizing that they were full of sympathy and encouragement, he smiled. It was a brave attempt at a smile, but it happened that the quiver of a disappointed four-year-old ran across his lips. The elder Moreland saw, and instantly a wave of rage surged through him. How would any one, any one at all, least of all a slip of a girl, dare to hurt Junior?