“To suffer sets a keen edge on what remains of the agreeable.  This is a great truth that has to be learned in the fire.”

It was all so exactly as it should be—­the love affair of Nancy and Raymond—­that it lacked excitement.  There was a moment when Doris and David Martin looked into each other’s eyes and sadly smiled; but that was past as it came.

“It’s all right, Davey!”

“Of course, Doris, and Bud wasn’t in it after all.  It was our desire—­not his.  He seems to feel he ought to be cheered for whooping the thing on; making Raymond jealous, you know.”

“Dear boy!”

“Thanks, Doris.  He is something worth while.”

Mrs. Tweksbury was so expansive in her happiness that she embarrassed Nancy.  She fairly bounded over the fragrant garden of new love and scanned the wide pastures beyond.

“Ken, if I can see children in this old house, I’ll thank God and depart in peace.  Say that you will come here, boy.  You know I’m always scuttling overseas.  I won’t be in the way—­but it is the one desire of my shrivelled old heart.”

“Aunt Emily, go slow and don’t be ridiculous.  The idea of your being in the way in your own house!”

“Ken, make Nancy love me.  I know I’m gnarled and crusty, but I need what she has to give all the more because of that.  I have no pride—­I want that girl’s love so—­that I’d—­I’d humble myself.”

Raymond kissed her.

“Has she told you of her—­her sister—­yet?” Mrs. Tweksbury asked.

“Yes.  Nancy says that until Joan, that’s the name I believe, comes home she cannot leave Miss Fletcher.  Nancy must not sacrifice herself.”

Raymond was quickly assuming the charms of ownership.

“She always has been,” snapped Mrs. Tweksbury, “an unconscious offering.  Where is her gad-about sister?”

“I forget—­out West somewhere, I believe.”

“What is she doing?”

“The Lord knows.  I got a very disagreeable impression of her.  I didn’t do much questioning—­Nancy was on the defensive.  She adores her sister.”

“Bless the child!  I have an unpleasant remembrance of the girl, too.”  Mrs. Tweksbury smiled grimly.  “She was always a pert chit, and I believe she is like her disreputable father—­you know about him, Ken?”

“Yes—­something.  Miss Fletcher mentioned him—­she says she wants to have a talk later on.  But what do I care, Aunt Emily?”

“I should rather like to know, myself.”  Mrs. Tweksbury sniffed scandal.  “I never have been sure about him, but I know he was socially above reproach.  If he personally went wrong it is deplorable, but, Ken, if he had his roots in good soil instead of mud, it isn’t fatal.”

“Bosh!  Aunt Emily.”

“Bosh! all you want to, boy.  It’s easy to bosh when you’re on the safe side—­but neither you nor I can afford to ignore the difference.”

“Nancy speaks for herself, Aunt Emily.”