Mrs. Parkes was absorbed in her reflections when the sound of a well-known voice made her look up. "Hallo, ma! Whatever are you doing that for? Where's Hilda?" An oldish-looking young man, a pipe in his mouth, newspaper in his hand, stood in the doorway looking at her. Mrs. Parkes smiled at her son: "There's no one else to do it, Harry. Hilda is going." The young man was so surprised that he took the pipe from his mouth, gave an expressive whistle, and came into the room. "Hilda leaving? I just met her coming down stairs with all her things on. She looks deuced pretty in her street clothes. What are you sending her for?" "She gave me insolence. I scolded her for neglecting her work. She said she would go. That's all." Looking at her son searchingly, she added: "Why are you so interested?" The young man laughed, and, throwing himself into an armchair, proceeded to make himself comfortable. "Interested? I'm not particularly interested that I know of. I'm sorry if you have to do all the work, that's all." Mrs. Parkes shook her head ominously as she said: "Harry, you're your father over again." Absorbed in reading his newspaper, the young man at first made no answer. Then looking up, he chuckled lightly: "Mother--you're over-anxious--and like most over-anxious mothers, you're mistaken." Mrs. Parkes looked at him fondly as she answered slowly: "My dear boy--I know human nature----" He shrugged his shoulders impatiently: "You knew father, that's all," he said testily. "I wish to goodness he'd been a better husband, then you wouldn't make my life miserable by always suspecting the worst. I can't speak to a girl--I can't even look at one--that you don't jump to the ridiculous conclusion that I'm falling in love with her, or that I'm like my father. Why don't you hire Japs?" His mother could not suppress a smile: "They're too expensive for a boarding house. Besides, some of my lady guests might object to having them around. No--it's not you, my boy. It's our designing sex I'm afraid of. I know I'm anxious, but I don't want to lose you as I lost your father." "You're always throwing my father at me," he answered. "Can I help it if he was a little wild? He's dead now. Why can't you let him alone?" Rising and flinging down his newspaper with a gesture of impatience, the young man crossed the room, and, pausing at a door near the window, he leaned his head forward and listened. His mother watched him in silence. Disapproval at his behavior was plainly written on her face. "What are you doing at that door, sir?" she demanded sharply. Harry grinned. He knew his mother's weakness too well to be much impressed with her affected tone of severity. "Is Miss Marsh in?" he asked, in a low tone. A new suspicion crossed Mrs. Parkes' mind. Hilda was safe out of the way, but here was a new peril. Before this she had noticed her son staring at her young lady lodger. Dear--dear--how like his father he was!