Richard looked from the tip of his unlighted cigar into his mother’s eyes, looked back again.

“Why, yes, I suppose she is!” he said, thoughtfully.  “Gardiner said something about it just now.  Said she’d make her fortune in the movies.”

“I don’t know about that,” Madame Carter said, indifferently.

“Why can’t you consider that we are fortunate to have her, Mother?”

“Because I don’t want to see you in a false position before the world, my son.  You must consider—–­”

The man kissed her hand lightly, with a laugh that closed the conversation.

“Consider nothing!  It’s all nonsense!” he said, and as she began her leisurely and dignified ascent he turned toward the porch and the solace of his cigar.  While he and the other men smoked and mused, he decided to see Harriet and have a long talk with her the next day, to tell her that no matter what his mother said or did her word in the house was law, to assure her that in his eyes at least her position was secure beyond any question.  Even with the varied group at the table to-night, he had missed her; there was an influence even in her silences, and a certain power in her very glances.

“Why the boy isn’t heels over head in love with her I don’t know!” he thought of Ward.  And when Gardiner, who had had merely a chance encounter with her in the hall spoke again of the gold hair and dark blue eyes, Richard fell into a benevolent dream of the little secretary married to Gardiner, who was rich and a bachelor, and a very decent fellow, too.  He fancied young Mrs. Gardiner coming to visit the Carters, and himself toasting her at a formal dinner, and wondered if he had ever seen Harriet in evening dress.  He would tell her to-morrow that she must get an evening gown.  Richard, always the man of business, selected the hour on Sunday that would be most suitable for his talk with her.  He and the other men would get up at seven, and go to the country club, where they would manage eighteen holes before breakfast was served on the club porch, the famous chicken Maryland and waffles of which the golfers dreamed for six days.  After that they might get into a game of bridge, pleasantly tired, well fed; there were less agreeable things to do than sit on the shady club porch, ordering mild drinks, and quarrelling over two or three hard-fought rubbers.  Nina and her crowd were to lunch at the club; last Sunday Harriet Field had come out with Nina and looked on for a hand or two, other people were drifting about, and it was extremely social and agreeable.

But he would be home to dress for dinner, at six, and then he would get hold of Miss Field, and somewhat clear up the situation.  Richard slept upon the resolution, and arose in the sweet summer morning to a satisfied recollection of it.  He looked from his window into the green, warm garden, and saw Miss Field herself emerging from the wood, and Nina’s friend, Blondin, beside her.  Harriet had evidently been to church; she carried a prayer-book; a broad-brimmed hat made the slender figure, from this distance anyway, extremely picturesque.  The man and she were in earnest conversation.