FLAMING
YOUTH
33
abruptly at the end of the conservatory as she heard her mother’s voice within. “Oh, Sid, dear! I almost wish I hadn’t told you.” Sid!
That was Sidney Rathbone, a Baltimorean, much
given to running over for week-ends. To Pat’s mind he was stricken in years, being nearly forty, but the most distinguished looking (thus her mentally italicised characterisation) person she had ever seen and distantly adored. Furthermore there was a quietly knightly devotion in his attitude toward the beautiful Mrs. Fentriss which enlisted the submerged romanticism of the child’s mind. Now she hardly recognised the usually smooth and gentle tones characteristic of him as he replied: “My God, Mona! I can’t believe it. I won’t believe | “Poor boy! It’s true, though.” “What does Osterhout know about it! He’s no diagnostician. You must come to Baltimore and see Finney or EKarle——” “It’s no use.” What Rathbone next said the listener could not make out, but Mona answered very gently: “No, Sid, dear. Notagain. That’s allover. I couldn’t now. You understand.” And then the man’s broken
voice: “Yes;
I understand, dearest.
But
if
“Qh, Sid! Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it.” Pat blundered on into the darkness, rather appalled. What in the name of bewilderment did that mean? Mr. Rathbone crying! And her mother’s voice was so sad. Though she did not care much for her mother beyond a lively admiration of her charm and beauty, Pat experienced a distinct chill. It was followed by a surge of exultation; she was certainly seeing life to-night! And then came the climax. A blithe voice at her elbow said:
