as they went down the steps she took his arm. "tom, darling, i'm proud of you. now they know where we stand, both of us."

"it was splendid of you, hildred, to play up like that. it backs me tremendously that you're not afraid to own me. but, you know, what i've just said will put us farther apart."

"oh, i don't know about that. father said we couldn't be engaged unless you were acknowledged as mr. whitelaw's son; and you have been. he never said anything about your being mrs. whitelaw's son. this is a case in which it's the father that counts specially."

"but i couldn't take any of his money beyond what i earned."

"oh, but that wouldn't make any difference."

they crossed the avenue and entered the park. they entered the park because it was the obvious place in which to look for a little privacy. all the gay sweet life of the may afternoon was at its brightest. riders were cantering up and down the bridle-path; friends were strolling; children were playing; birds were flying with bits of string or straw for the building of their nests. to tom and hildred the gladness was thrown out by the deeper gladness in themselves.

"but you don't know how poor we'll be."

[pg 481]

"oh, don't i? where do you think i keep my eyes? why, i expect to be poor when i marry—for a while at any rate. i expect to do my own housework, like most of the young married women i know."

"oh, but you've always talked so much about servants."

"yes, dear tom, but that was to be on a desert island where we were to be all alone. we shan't find that island except in our hearts."

"but even without the island, i always supposed that when a girl like you got married she...."

"she began with an establishment on the scale of ours in louisburg square, at the least. yes, that used to be the way, twenty or thirty years ago. but i'm sorry to say it isn't so any longer. talk about revolution! we've got revolution as it is. with rents and wages as they are, and all the other expenses, why, a young couple must begin with the simple life, or stay single. i'd rather begin with the simple life, and i know more about it than you think."

he laughed. "so i see."

"oh, i can cook and sew and make beds and wash dishes...."

they sauntered on, without noticing where they were going, till they came to a dell, where in the shade of an elm there was a seat, and another near a heart-shaped clump of lilacs, all in bloom. they sat in the shade of the elm. they were practical young lovers, and yet they were young lovers. they were lovers for whom there had never been any lovers but themselves. the wonderful thing was that each felt what the other felt; the discoveries by which they had come

[pg 482]

to the knowledge of this fact were the first that had ever been made.

"oh, tom, do you feel like that? why, that's just the way i feel."

"is it, hildred? well, it shows we were made for each other, doesn't it, because i never thought that anyone felt like that but me?"

"well, no one ever did but me. only tom, dear, tell me when it was that you first began to fall in love with me."

"it was the night—a winter's night—five, six, seven years ago—when i found guy in a mix-up with a lot of hoodlums in the snow."

"and you brought him home. that was the first time you ever saw me."

"yes, it was the first time i ever saw you that i began...."

"and i began then, too. since that evening, there's never been anybody else. oh, tom, was there ever anybody else with you?"

tom thought of maisie. "not—not really."

"well, unreally then?"

as he made his confession she listened eagerly. "yes, that was unreally. and you never heard anything more about her?"

"oh, yes. when i was in boston a few weeks ago i went to see her aunt. she told me that maisie had been married for the last two years to a traveling salesman she'd been in love with for a long time, and that she had a baby."

the thought of maisie brought back the thought of

[pg 483]

honey; and the thought of honey woke him to the fact that he had been on this spot before.

"why—why, hildred! this is the very bench on which miss nash and the other nurse were sitting—"

"when you were stolen?"

"when somebody was stolen." he looked round him. "and there's miss nash over there!"

on the bench near the lilacs miss nash was seated with a book.

"we ought to go and speak to her," hildred suggested.

miss nash received them with her beatific look. "i saw you leave the house. i thought you'd come here. i followed you. i had something to do, something i swore to god i'd do the day my little boy came back. i'd—" she held up a novel of which the open pages were already yellowing—"i'd finish this. juliet allingham's sin is the name of it. i was just at the scene where the lover drowns when my little boy was taken. i've never opened the book since; but i've kept it by me." she rose, weeping. "now i can finish it—but i'll go home."

sitting down on the seat she had left free for them, they began to talk of the scene of the afternoon, which as yet they had avoided.

"i hope i didn't hurt their feelings."

"they didn't mind hurting yours."

"they didn't mean to. they thought they were generous."

"which only shows...."

"but he's all right. hildred, he's a big man."

"and you really think he's your father, tom?"

[pg 484]

"i know he is. everything makes me sure of it."

"well, then, if he's your father, she must be your mother."

"yes, but i don't go that far. it isn't what must be that i think about; it's what is."

she persisted in her logic. "and tad and lily must be your brother and sister."

"they can be what they like. i don't care anything about them."

"it's only your mother that you don't...."

he got up, restlessly. it was easier to reconstruct the scene which honey had described to him than to let her bring what she was saying too sharply to a point.

"it was over here that the baby carriage stood, right in the heart of this little clump." she followed him into it. "miss nash and the other nurse were over there, where we were sitting first. and right here, just where i'm standing, the queer thing must have happened."

"are you sorry it happened, tom?"

"you mean, if it actually happened to me. why, no; and yet—yes. i can't tell. i'm sorry not to have grown up with—with my father. and yet if i had, i should have missed—all the other things—honey—and perhaps you."

"oh, you couldn't have missed me, i couldn't have missed you. we might not have met in the way we did meet, but we'd have met."

he hardly heard her last words, because he was staring off along the path by which they themselves

[pg 485]

had come down. his tone was puzzled, scarcely more than a whisper.

"hildred, look!"

"why, it's mr. and mrs. whitelaw. she's changed her dress. how young she looks with that kind of flowered hat. i remember now. they always come here on the tenth of may. they've been here already this morning. lily told me so. i know what it is. they're looking for you. miss nash has told them where we are. i'm going to run."

"don't run far," he begged of her. "i can't imagine what's up."

he stood where he was, watching their advance. it was not his place to go forward, since he wasn't sure that he was wanted. he only thought he must be when, as they reached the bench beneath the elm, whitelaw pointed him out and let his wife go on alone.

she came on in the hurried way in which she did everything, her great eyes brimming, as they often were, with unshed tears. at the entrance among the lilacs she held out both her hands, their diamonds upward, as if he was to kiss them. he took the hands, but lightly, barely touching them, keeping on his guard.

"harry!" the staccato sentences came out as little breathless cries torn from a heart that tried to keep them back. "harry! you—you needn't—love me—or be my son—or live with us—unless—unless you like—but i want you to—to let me kiss you—just once—the way—the way your other—mother—used to."