quite willing to accept it herself.  But other things were not equal, and the whole situation was very odd.  All that she knew of Mr. Mavering the elder was that he was the old friend of John Munt, and she knew far too little of John Munt, except that he seemed to go everywhere, and to be welcome, not to feel that his introduction was hardly a warrant for what looked like an impending intimacy.  She did not dislike Mr. Mavering; he was evidently a country person of great self-respect, and no doubt of entire respectability.  He seemed very intelligent, too.  He was a Harvard man; he had rather a cultivated manner, or else naturally a clever way of saying things.  But all that was really nothing, if she knew no more about him, and she certainly did not.  If she could only have asked her daughter who it was that presented young Mavering to her, that might have formed some clew, but there was no earthly chance of asking this, and, besides, it was probably one of those haphazard introductions that people give on such occasions.  Young Mavering’s behaviour gave her still greater question:  his self-possession, his entire absence of anxiety; or any expectation of rebuff or snub, might be the ease of unimpeachable social acceptance, or it might be merely adventurous effrontery; only something ingenuous and good in the young fellow’s handsome face forbade this conclusion.  That his face was so handsome was another of the complications.  She recalled, in the dreamlike swiftness with which all these things passed through her mind, what her friends had said to Alice about her being sure to meet her fate on Class Day, and she looked at her again to see if she had met it.

“Well, mamma?” said the girl, smiling at her mother’s look.

Mrs. Pasmer thought she must have been keeping young Mavering waiting a long time for his answer.  “Why, of course, Alice.  But I really don’t know what to do about the Saintsburys.”  This was not in the least true, but it instantly seemed so to Mrs. Pasmer, as a plausible excuse will when we make it.

“Why, I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Pasmer,” said young Mavering, with a cordial unsuspicion that both won and reassured her, “we’ll be sure to find them at some of the spreads.  Let me be of that much use, anyway; you must.”

“We really oughtn’t to let you,” said Mrs. Pasmer, making a last effort to cling to her reluctance, but feeling it fail, with a sensation that was not disagreeable.  She could not help being pleased with the pleasure that she saw in her daughter’s face.

Young Mavering’s was radiant.  “I’ll be back in just half a minute,” he said, and he took a gay leave of them in running to speak to another student at the opposite end of the hall.

III.

“You must allow me to get you something to eat first, Mrs. Pasmer,” said the elder Mavering.