“They enjoy these encounters keenly,” said Mrs. Gray, beside Richard, as a telling story by Mr. Robert Gray, in illustration of a point he had made, came to a conclusion amid a burst of appreciative laughter.  “They relish them quite as much, we think, as if they often succeeded in convincing each other, which they seldom do.”

“Are they always in such form?” asked Richard, looking into the fresh, attractive face of the lady who was the mistress of this home, and continuing to watch her with eyes as deferential as they were admiring.  She, too, represented a type of woman and mother with which he was unfamiliar.  Grace and charm in women who presided at dinner-tables he had often met, but he could not remember when before he had sat at the right hand of a woman who had made him begin, for almost the first time in his life, to wonder what his own mother had been like.

“Nearly always, at night, I think,” said she, her eyes resting upon her husband’s face.  Richard, observing, saw her smile, and guessed, without looking, that there had been an exchange of glances.  He knew, because he had twice before noted the exchange, as if there existed a peculiarly strong sympathy between husband and wife.  This inference, too, possessed a curious new interest for the young man—­he had not been accustomed to see anything of that sort between married people of long standing—­not in the world he knew so well.  He seemed to be learning strange new possibilities of existence at every step, since he had discovered the Grays—­he who at twenty-eight had not thought there was very much left in human experience to be discovered.

“Is it different in the morning?” Richard inquired.

“Quite different.  They are rather apt to take things more seriously in the morning.  The day’s work is just before them and they are inclined to discuss grave questions and dispose of them.  But at night, when the lights are burning and every one comes home with a sense of duty done, it is natural to throw off the weights and be merry over the same matters which, perhaps, it seemed must be argued over in the morning.  We all look forward to the dinner-table.”

“I should think you might,” agreed Richard, looking about him once more at the faces which surrounded him.  He caught Roberta’s eye, as he did so—­much to his satisfaction—­and she gave him a straightforward, steady look, as if she were taking his measure for the first time.  Then, quite suddenly, she smiled at him and turned away to speak to Ted, who sat by her side.

Richard continued to watch, and saw that immediately Ted looked his way and also smiled.  He wanted so much to know what this meant, that, as soon as dinner was over and they were all leaving the room, he fell in with the boy and, putting his hand through Ted’s arm, whispered with artful intent:  “Was my tie under my left ear?”

Ted stared up at him.  “Your tie’s all right, Mr. Kendrick.”