"Don't you know?" But she didn't allow him the opportunity to answer. "I'm in a transition period, Jimmie," she said. "I meant to be such a good parent to Eleanor and correct all the evil ways into which she has fallen as a result of all her other injudicious training, and, instead of that, I'm doing nothing but think of myself and my own hankerings and yearnings and such. I thought I could do so much for the child." "That's the way we all think till we tackle her and then we find it quite otherwise and even more so. Tell me about your hankerings and yearnings." "Tell me about your job, Jimmie." And for a little while they found themselves on safe and familiar ground again. Jimmie's new position was a very satisfactory one. He found himself associated with men of solidity and discernment, and for the first time in his business career he felt himself appreciated and stimulated by that appreciation to do his not inconsiderable best. Gertrude was the one woman--Eleanor had not yet attained the inches for that classification--to whom he ever talked business. "Now, at last, I feel that I've got my feet on the earth, Gertrude; as if the stuff that was in me had a chance to show itself, and you don't know what a good feeling that is after you've been marked trash by your family and thrown into the dust heap." "I'm awfully glad, Jimmie." "I know you are, 'Trude. You're an awfully good pal. It isn't everybody I'd talk to like this. Let's sit down." The moonlight beat down upon them in floods of sentient palpitating glory. Little breathy waves sought the shore and whispered to it. The pines on the breast of the bank stirred softly and tenderly. "Lord, what a night," Jimmie said, and began burying her little white hand in the beach sand. His breath was not coming quite evenly. "Now tell me about your job," he said. "I don't think I want to talk about my job tonight." "What do you want to talk about?" "I don't know." There was no question about her voice sounding as usual this time. Jimmie brushed the sand slowly away from the buried hand and covered it with his own. He drew nearer, his face close, and closer to hers. Gertrude closed her eyes. It was coming, it was coming and she was glad. That silly old vow of celibacy, her silly old thoughts about art. What was art? What was anything with the arms of the man you loved closing about you. His lips were on hers. Jimmie drew a sharp breath, and let her go. "Gertrude," he said, "I'm incorrigible. I ought to be spanked. I'd make love to--Eleanor's grandmother if I had her down here on a night like this. Will you forgive me?" Gertrude got to her feet a little unsteadily, but she managed a smile. "It's only the moon," she said, "and--and young blood. I think Grandfather Amos would probably affect me the same way." Jimmie's momentary expression of blankness passed and Gertrude did not press her advantage. They walked home in silence.