"Father's play made a great hit," he said presently, still steering carefully away from the reefs of emotion. "I suppose you read all about it in the papers?" She shook her head, smiling. Though she tried her best to be as natural and as unemotional as he was, she could not keep her adoration out of her eyes, which feasted on him like the eyes of one who had starved for months. How handsome he was, with his broad shoulders, his fine sunburned face, and his frank, boyish smile. It was a pity he had to wear glasses--yet even his glasses seemed to her individual and charming. She couldn't imagine a single way in which he could be improved, and all the while she was perfectly sure that it wasn't in the least because she was his mother--that she wasn't a bit prejudiced in her judgment. It appeared out of the question that anybody--even a stranger--could have found fault with him. "No, I haven't had time to read the papers--I've been so busy getting ready for Lucy's wedding," she answered. "But your father told me about it. It must be splendid--only I wish he wouldn't speak so contemptuously of it," she added regretfully. "He says it's trash, and yet I'm sure everybody spoke well of it, and they say it is obliged to make a great deal of money. I can't understand why his success seems to irritate rather than please him." "Well, he thinks, you know, that it is only since he's cheapened himself that he has had any hearing." "Cheapened himself?" she repeated wistfully. "But his first plays failed entirely, so these last ones must be a great deal better if they are such splendid successes." "Well, I suppose it's hard for us to understand his point of view. We talked about it one night in New York when we were dining with Margaret Oldcastle--she takes the leading part in 'Pretty Fanny,' you know." "Yes, I know. What is she like?" A strange, still look came into her face, as though she waited with suspended breath for his answer. "She's a charmer on the stage. I heard father tell her that she made the play, and I'm not sure that he wasn't right." "But you saw her off the stage, didn't you?" "Oh, yes, she asked me to dinner. She didn't look nearly so young, then, and she's not exactly pretty; but, somehow, it didn't seem to matter. She's got genius--you couldn't be with her ten minutes without finding out that. I never saw any one in my life so much alive. When she's in a room, even if she doesn't speak, you can't keep your eyes off her. She's like a bright flame that you can't stop looking at--not even if there are a lot of prettier women there, too." "Is she dark or fair?" He stopped to think for a moment. "To save my life I can't remember--but I think she's dark--at least, her eyes are, though her hair may be light. But you never think of her appearance when she's talking. I believe she's the best talker I ever heard--better even than father."