She had spoken of no magazine, but she caught the idea, the clever, rather wicked idea. He made her work her mind almost too fast sometimes, but she enjoyed it. “Wasn’t it this?” she asked, with a beating heart. They sat down on the sofa and bent their heads over it with student-like absorption. “I haven’t any idea what it is,” she whispered. “Oh, well, I suppose there’s something or other in it.” “I think your mother is perfectly wonderful--wonderful.” “I love you so.” The older people took a little longer to settle down. Mr. Lanley stood on the hearth-rug, with a cigar in his mouth and his head thrown very far back. Adelaide sank into a chair, looking, as she often did, as if she had just been brilliantly well posed for a photograph. Farron was silent. Mrs. Wayne sat, as she had a bad habit of doing, on one foot. The two groups were sufficiently separated for distinct conversations. “Is this a conference?” asked Farron. Mrs. Wayne made it so by her reply. “The whole question is, Are they really in love? At least, that’s my view.” “In love!” Adelaide twisted her shoulders. “What can they know of it for another ten years? You must have some character, some knowledge to fall in love. And these babes--” “No,” said Mr. Lanley, stoutly; “you’re all wrong, Adelaide. It’s first love that matters--_Romeo_ and _Juliet_, you know. Afterward we all get hardened and world-worn and cynical and material.” He stopped short in his eloquence at the thought that Mrs. Wayne was quite obviously not hardened or world-worn or cynical or material. “By Jove!” he thought to himself, “that’s it. The woman’s spirit is as fresh as a girl’s.” He had by this time utterly forgotten what he had meant to say. Adelaide turned to her husband. “Do you think they are in love, Vin?” Vincent looked at her for a second, and then he nodded two or three times. Though no one at once recognized the fact, the engagement was settled at that moment. It seemed obvious that Mr. Lanley should take the Waynes home in his car. Mrs. Wayne, who had prepared for walking with overshoes and with pins for her trailing skirt, did not seem too enthusiastic at the suggestion. She stood a moment on the step and looked at the sky, where Orion, like a banner, was hung across the easterly opening of the side street. “It’s a lovely night,” she said. It was Pete who drew her into the car. Her reluctance deprived Mr. Lanley of the delight of bestowing a benefit, but gave him a faint sense of capture. In the drawing-room Mathilde was looking from one to the other of her natural guardians, like a well-trained puppy who wants to be fed. She wanted Pete praised. Instead, Adelaide said: “Really, papa is growing too secretive! Do you know, Vin, he and Mrs. Wayne quarreled like mad last evening, and he never told me a word about it!” “How do you know?” “Oh, I heard them trying to smooth it out at dinner.” “O Mama,” wailed Mathilde, between admiration and complaint, “you hear everything!”