"It's from a girl," was her comment. "Bad cess to her. But I knowed th' girls couldn't let sich a foine-lookin' lad as that alone. They'll be makin' eyes at him, an' pertendin' t' edge away, an' all th' toime invitin' him on--don't I know 'em!" And Mary grew quite warm with indignation, entirely forgetting that she herself had been a girl once upon a time, and an adept in all the arts of that pretty game of advance and retreat which she now denounced so vigorously. She laid the letter on Allan's plate, and noted the little shock of surprise with which he found it there when he sat down to supper that evening. "Hello; what's this?" he asked, picking it up. "It's a letter come fer ye this mornin'," answered Mary, and she and Jack and Mamie all waited for him to open it, which he did with a hand not wholly steady. "'Miss Elizabeth Heywood,'" he read, "'requests the pleasure of Mr. Allan West's company, Thursday evening, April 28th. Seven o'clock.'" "Well, of all th' forrerd minxes!" burst out Mary. "Why, when I was a girl, I'd a' no more thought o' writin' a young man t' come an' see me--" Jack interrupted her with a roar of laughter. "Why, Mary," he cried, "don't ye see! It's a party she's askin' him to--th' sup'rintindint's daughter!" "A party! Th' sup'rintindint's daughter!" and Mary paused between jealousy for her boy and pride that he should have received such an invitation. "An' of course he'll go," added Jack, with decision. "It's a shame t' kape a foine felly like Allan shut up here with us old fogies." "Well, I'll say this," said Mary, pouring out the coffee, "if he _does_ go, they won't be no finer lookin' young felly there." And I am inclined to think that Betty Heywood thought so, too, when she came forward to meet him that Thursday evening. "How glad I am to see you," she said, with a bright smile of welcome. As for Allan, he was for the moment tongue-tied. If she had been a vision in her gray travelling-suit, what was she now, clad, as it seemed to him, in a sparkling cloud of purest white? She noticed his confusion, and no doubt interpreted it aright--as what girl would not?--for she went on, without appearing to notice it: "And I want my mother to know you. Here she is, over here," and she led the way to a beautiful woman of middle age, who sat in a great chair at one end of the room, the centre of a little court. "Mother, this is Allan West." Mrs. Heywood held out to him a hand even smaller and softer than her daughter's. "I am glad to know you, my boy," she said. "Mr. Heywood has spoken so much of you that I feel as though I had known you a long time. Won't you sit down here by me awhile?" Betty gave a little nod of satisfaction, and hurried away to meet some other guests, whirling away with her the circle which had been about her mother's chair. Allan sat down, thinking that he had never heard a voice as sweet as Mrs. Heywood's.