ten rooms were just the same, and that the old lady liked to walk slowly through them, and note the lace over satin, the glint of ranked wineglasses, the gleam of polished silver, the clocks and candlesticks.  There were certain ornate ashtrays for Richard and Ward, there was a magnificent piano player, for which his grandmother bought the boy a dozen rolls a month, selecting them with splendid indifference on one of her regal expeditions downtown, and there was a massive Victrola, which had once delighted Nina for hours at a time.

“The child is growing up!” the old lady said, smiling at some thought.  “Well, we must look for love affairs now!”

Harriet felt that there was small profit in following this line of conversation.  She glanced at her twisted wrist.

“I think I will make that two o’clock train, Madame Carter, unless there is some errand I might do for you?” she said respectfully.

This courtesy, from a beautiful young woman to an old one, always antagonized Madame Carter.  Harriet knew that she was casting about for some honeyed and venomous farewell, when the muffled thrill of the bell came to them, and the footsteps of Ella were heard.  Immediately afterward Richard Carter came quickly in.

He met Harriet at the door.

“How are you, Miss Field?  Tell Nina to hurry; I’ve got about five minutes!” he said, pleasantly.

“Don’t keep Miss Field; she is making her train!” said his mother, coming forward under full sail, and laying both hands about his.  “I’ll explain about Nina.  Come here—­you have time to sit down with your mother, I hope!”

Richard Carter gave his mother the peculiarly warm smile that was especially her own.

“Went on with Ward, eh?” he said, in his hearty voice.  “That’s all right, then.  Oh, Miss Field!” he called, after Harriet’s discreetly retreating back, “the car’s downstairs.  Wait for me there; I’ll run you home in half the time the train takes.  I’m playing in the tennis finals, Mother—­”

Harriet, turning for just a nod and smile, heard no more.  His voice dropped to a filial undertone, and he sank into a low chair, with his hands still clasping the old lady’s hand.  But as she entered the lift, the girl said to herself, with a passionate sort of gratitude:  “Oh, I like you!  You’re the only genuine and unselfish and kind-hearted one in the whole crowd!”

She went down to the street, and saw the small car waiting.  He was driving himself to-day.  With a great sense of comfort and relaxation Harriet got into it, and was comfortably established, and tucked in snugly, when Richard came down.  He smiled at seeing her, got into his own seat; the machine slipped smoothly into motion, the hot and sordid streets began to glide by.

“Ever think how illuminating it would be, Miss Field, if we kept a list of the things that are worrying us sick, and read ’em over a few weeks later?”

“I suppose so!” the girl said, a little surprised, and yet with fervour.  “We’d have a fresh bunch then, and be worrying away just as hard!”