The silence of the parents was deafening. Their eyes rolled together and clashed, as it were, like cannon-balls meeting. Dyckman senior dropped back into his chair and whistled “Whew!” Then he laughed a little: “Well, I'm sure we should be proud of our alliance with the fifth largest industry. The Dyckmans are coming up in the world.” “Hush!” said Mrs. Dyckman. She was thinking of the laugh that rival mothers would have on her. She was thinking of the bitterness of her other children, of her daughter who was a duchess in England, and of the squirming of her relatives-in-law. But she was too fond of her boy to mention her dreads. She passed on to the next topic. “Where are you living?” “Nowhere yet,” Jim confessed. “We just got in from our--er--honeymoon this morning. We haven't decided what to do.” Then Mrs. Dyckman took one of those heroic steps she was capable of. “You'd better bring her here.” “Oh no; she'd be in your way. She'd put you out.” “I hope not, not so soon,” Mrs. Dyckman laughed, dismally. “She'll probably not like us at all, but we can start her off right.” “That's mighty white of you, mother.” “Did you expect me to be--yellow?” “No, but I thought you might be a little--blue.” “If she'll make you happy I'll thank Heaven for her every day and night of my life. So let's give her every chance we can, and I hope she'll give us a chance.” Jim's arms were long enough to encircle her and hug her tight. He whispered to her, “I never needed you more, you God-blessed--mother!” Her tears streamed down her cheeks upon his lips, and he had a little taste of the bitterness of maternal love. She felt better after she had cried a little, and she said, with courage: “Now we mustn't keep you away from her. If you want me to, I'll go along with you and call on her and extend a formal invitation.” Jim could not permit his revered mother to make so complete a submission as that. He shook his head: “That won't be necessary. I'll go get Kedzie.” “Kedzie? I thought her name was Anita.” “That was her stage name--her film name.” “Oh! And her name wasn't Adair, either, perhaps?” “No, it was--er--Thropp!” “Oh!” She wanted to say “What a pretty name!” to make it easier for him, but she could not arrange the words on her tongue. She asked, instead, “Is she American?” “American? I should say so! Born in Missouri.” Another “Oh!” from the mother. Jim swallowed a bit more of quinine and made his escape, saying: “You're as fine as they make 'em, mother. I won't be gone long.” The father was so disgusted with the whole affair that he could only save himself from breaking the furniture by a sardonic taunt: “Tell our daughter-in-law that if she wants to bring along her camera she can have the ballroom for a studio. We never use it, anyway.” “Shame on you!” his wife cried. “Don't mind him, Jimsy.”