This attitude of his mother's troubled William more than anything else at this period. His love for her was unalloyed by any feeling toward any other woman or girl of his acquaintance; he often called her his "sweetheart." He was more gentle toward her than any other member of the household, with the exception of little deaf and dumb Dorothy, and he continually sought her advice in matters of family interest. Yet he knew that she brooded over him often; and because he knew the reason of it, so keen was his intuition, he tried to reveal the real William to her more completely than to any one else. Miss Whimple came nearer to "diagnosing" William than any of the women who knew him at this time. "I've seen that boy," she said to Sally, "give his last cent to help people in distress: I've known him to go to trouble that would worry a grown man in order to assist some shiftless body to get a position, for his trust in people is not easily shaken. But we'll never know the real William until--until----" Sally waited, and in a little while Miss Whimple went on. "Just now, and for a long time to come, I think, his mind will be so strongly set upon success on the stage that he will not allow anything to come between. And, if his health remains good, it seems to me that our fondest hopes for him in that direction will fall far short of the realisation. But one day, Sally Miller, there will come to William that which comes to every one of us sooner or later." "Yes." "Yes," said Miss Whimple, so low that the girl hardly caught the words, "yes--love will come to William. It will have to fight its way over many barriers, but in the end his heart will be carried by storm. Then we will know a new William Adolphus Turnpike, or some of you younger folks will, for I'm too old to be expecting that the good Lord will let me live to see that, and William in love will be worth seeing. You know," she continued in a lighter tone, "I asked him one day just a little while ago if he had a sweetheart, and he looked at me with that gleam in his eyes we all know so well as he answered, 'Sure!' "'Who is it?' I asked. "'You'd know as much as I do if I told you,' he said. "That made me angry, of course, and I told him he was lucky enough to be too big for me to thrash, as I tried to do the first time I saw him; and you should have seen him grin. "'Miss Whimple,' said he, 'I'll never forget you and the parasol as long as I live. Say, it was----' but I broke in with, 'Now, who is your sweetheart, William?' and what do you think he said?" "'Mother.'"