"But I will," said René. "When I've saved money and can retire, we'll go and live together." "I don't know. It's easy to forget old women." "Oh, come! A man doesn't forget his mother." "Doesn't he?" "And old? You're not old." "I've been old since before you were born." René gazed down at his mother and marveled at her in painful astonishment. In her little quiet voice she was saying things that stabbed into him, or, hardly stabbing, abraded and bruised him. And suddenly he began almost to perceive that her life was not tranquil, not the smooth pale flowing he had imagined it to be. He stared down at her, and she raised her eyes so that they met his. He dared not even tremble, so fearful was he of betraying his divination and her eyes flashed a warning, and his mind seized triumphantly upon its first intellectual mastery of emotion, and he said to himself: "There are certain feelings and currents of sympathy which can only dwell in silence." Then he laughed: "You must have been pretty when you were a girl." "Oh," said Mrs. Fourmy, taking up her crochet, "my hair was lovely." With that she rose and busied herself with preparing tea, taking out the caddy in which the party brand was kept, and her best table-center and the ornaments which were reserved for the few elegant occasions the household could admit. "I got a pair of sleeve-links for George," said René. "Silver and agate. When's he going to be married? They might do for a wedding present as well." "They are going to be married at once. They've got to be." "I say!" He spun round on that. "I say. Need you have told me? When she's coming here and all!" But Mrs. Fourmy was remorseless. She said with biting coldness: "When George was a little boy, he found out when I was married and reckoned up from that to the day when he was born, and he let me know that he knew. He told you too." "Yes. He told me. How did you know?" "You looked at me all one Sunday afternoon with your big eyes." "Oh, mother!" "There they are. George has forgotten the key. Will you go to the door? Polly has chosen to-day to clean the kitchen out. She would. She isn't fit to be seen." René went to the door. "Hullo! old man!"--René hated to be called "old man"--"Hullo! Got back?" "Only just." "This is Elsie--Elsie Sherman. Mother's told you?" Elsie was pretty, as tall as René, and just a shade taller than George. She took the hand René held out, and squeezed it warmly. "So you're the wonderful brother?" "Yes. The---- Yes, I'm George's brother. You--you can take your things off in mother's room if you like." "Or mine," said George. "Don't be silly. I couldn't," said Elsie, with a giggle that made René hate her. She ran upstairs and George patted his brother on the shoulder. "Well? Still good enough for us? What do you think of her?" "She's pretty." "When you know her a bit you'll want to go and do likewise, my son."