He could not free the cramped muscles of his spirit to meet her quite on her own ground; it was his fate sometimes to reach the laugh just as all the others grew suddenly serious, and as often he took their airy interest heavily, and chained them with facts, from which they fluttered like a flight of butterflies.  But he had his own claim, and it warmed the very fibres of his lonely heart when he saw that Nancy was beginning to recognize that claim.

When they all went out to the theatre and supper, it was his pocket-book that never failed them.  And what a night that was when, eagerly proffering the fresh bills to Lee Porter, who was giving the party, he looked up to catch a look of protest, and shame, and gratitude, in Nancy’s lovely eyes!

“No, now, Lee, you shall not take it!” she laughed richly.  Bert thought for a second that this was more than mere persiflage, for the expression on the girl’s face was new.  Later he reminded himself that they all used curious forms of speech.  “I just was too tired to get up this morning,” a girl who had actually gotten up would say, or someone would comment upon a late train:  “The old train actually never did get here!”

After a while he took Nancy to lunch once or twice, and one day took her to the Plaza, where his mother happened to be staying with Cousin Mary Winthrop and Cousin Anna Baldwin, and his mother said that Nancy was a sweet, lovely girl.  Bert had quite a thrill when he saw the familiar, beautiful face turned seriously and with pretty concern toward his mother, and he liked Nancy’s composure among the rather formal older women.  She managed her tea and her gloves and her attentions prettily, thought Bert.  When he took her home at six o’clock he was conscious that he had passed an invisible barrier in their relationship; she knew his mother.  They were of one breed.

But that night, when he went back to the hotel to dine, his mother drew him aside.

“Not serious, dear—­between you and Miss Barrett, I mean?”

Bert laughed in pleasant confusion.

“Well, I—­of course I admire her awfully.  Everyone does.  But I don’t know that I’d have a chance with her.”  Suddenly and unbidden there leaped into his heart the glorious thought of possessing Nancy.  Nancy—­his wife, making a home and a life for unworthy him!  He flushed deeply.  His mother caught the abashed murmur, “...thirteen hundred a year!”

“Exactly!” she said incisively, almost triumphantly.  But her eyes, closely watching his expression, were anxious.  “I don’t believe in having things made too easy for young persons,” she added, smiling.  “But that—­that really is too hard.”

“Yep.  That’s too hard,” Bert agreed.

“It isn’t fair to the girl to ask it,” added his mother gently.

“That’s true,” Bert said a little heavily, after a pause.  “It isn’t fair—­to Nancy.”