"You've told me so. And it goes without saying, as you had an _idée fixe_ that you must make her this visit at any cost," Marise replied. "At any cost--that's just it," he repeated. "Well, she's as old-fashioned as you're new-fashioned. She couldn't understand a motive for marriage except love--she'd hardly believe there was any other! I don't want to shock or worry her if I can avoid it. Will you please help me out in keeping her as happy about--us, as you reasonably can?" "Of course I don't want to hurt her," said Marise. "I hate hurting people--as a general rule, though you mayn't believe it. What do you want me to do--something special?" "Yes. Could you bring yourself to call me 'Jack' before her? She'd notice if you always called me 'You,' as you do--as you have since I pointed out that 'Major Garth' didn't fit the situation." "Certainly. That's easy enough!" Marise reassured him. "I'm not an actress for nothing. Many a man whom I wouldn't dream of calling by his Christian name off the stage has had to be 'dearest' and 'darling' _on_!" Garth flushed darkly, she could not quite guess why. "Thank you," he said. "We'll consider ourselves in the theatre, then, when we're at Mothereen's, playing--don't you say?--'opposite' parts. I'll try and make yours not too hard. I don't know whether she'll have come to the depot to meet us or not, but--hurrah, _there_ she is!" His voice rang out as Marise had never yet heard it ring. Yes, she had once--just for an instant--that first Sunday when he said, "I would sell my soul for you!"--or some foolish words of the kind. Since then, she had forgotten those tones, and thought his voice hard; but now its warmth and mellowness brought back a memory. The train was stopping. In front of a wonderful window full of Indian curios stood a little woman looking up and waving a handkerchief. She was dressed in black, with the oldest-fashioned sort of widow's bonnet. And if you'd seen her on top of the North Pole, you would have known she was Irish. Garth flung a window up, and shouted, "Mothereen!" CHAPTER XXVII SECOND FIDDLE The next thing that Marise knew, she was on the platform, being hugged and kissed by the little woman in black, admired by a pair of big, wide-apart blue eyes under black hair turning grey, smiled at by a kind, sweet mouth whose short upper lip showed teeth white as a girl's.