“Jimsy” reminded Jim of Mrs. Thropp and his promise to ask his mother to call on her. But he had confessed all that he could endure. He was glad to get away without letting slip the fact that “Thropp” had changed to “Dyckman” _via_ “Gilfoyle.” His mother called him back for another embrace and then let him go. She had nowhere to turn for support but to her raging husband, and she found herself crying her eyes out in his arms. He had his own heartbreak and pridebreak, but he was only a man and no sympathy need be wasted on him. He wasted none on himself. He laughed ruefully. “You were saying, mother, only awhile ago that you wished he'd marry some nice girl. Well, he's married, and we'll have to take what he brings us. But, oh, these children, these damned children!” A little later he was trying to brace himself and his wife against the future. “After all, marriage is only an infernal gamble. We might have scoured the world and picked out an angel for him, and she might have run off with the chauffeur the second week. I guess I got the only real angel that's been captured in the last fifty years. The boy may have stumbled on a prize unbeknownst. We'll give the kid the benefit of the doubt, anyway. Won't we?” “Of course, dear, if she'll give us the same.” “Well, Jim said she came from Missouri. We've got to show her.” “Ring for Wotton, will you?” “What are you going to tell him?” “The truth.” “Good Lord! Do you dare do that?” “I don't dare not to. They'll find it out down-stairs quickly enough in their own way.” “I see. You want to beat 'em to it.” “Exactly.” For years the American world had been discussing the duty of parents to teach their children the things they must inevitably learn in uglier and more perilous ways. There were editorials on it, stories, poems, novels, numberless volumes. It even reached the stage. Mrs. Dyckman had left her own children to find things out for themselves. It occurred to her that she should not make the same mistake with the eager servants who gave the walls ears and the keyholes eyes. It was a ferocious test of her courage, but she knew that she would have all possible help from Wotton. He had not only been the head steward of the family ship in countless storms, but he had an inherited knowledge of the sufferings of homes. He had learned his profession as page to his father, who had been a butler and the son of a butler. Wotton came in like a sweet old earl and waited while Mrs. Dyckman gathered strength to say as offhandedly as if she were merely announcing that Jim was arrested for murder: “Oh, Wotton, I wanted to tell you that Mr. James Dyckman has just brought us the news of his marriage.” Wotton's eyebrows went up and his hands sought each other and whispered together as he faltered: “Indeed, ma'am! That is a surprise, isn't it?” “He has married a very brilliant young lady who has had great success in--ah--in the--ah--moving pictures.”