his surroundings was depressing, and as he sat there the thought of Marcia recurred to him and for the first time his sense of obligation to her became conscious responsibility. She wanted the things that money could give; she trusted him to get them for her, and he was suddenly aware of the responsibility that devolves upon a man when he promises happiness to a woman.
He had been confident enough that this errand was but a brief preliminary step, that by it he would win his father's confidence, and that the remainder would be simple. Now he was not so certain. Difficulties might be ahead, and if he failed—He rose and paced the bear-skin rug. Money and how to get it! The goal and the problem of his kind! A door opened and Helen Foraker appeared. He stopped his pacing.
"We will eat now, Mr. Taylor."
He saw a table laid, with Aunty May and children standing by it. He saw, too, that when she bade him come to her board a portion of the indifference which had marked her was absorbed by a show of graciousness.
He entered the dining room.
"Mr. Taylor, this is Bobby Kildare and his sister Bessy."
The little girl, who was no more than three, advanced and courtesied gravely. The boy, twice her age, face shining from recent soap, grinned self-consciously as he put out a warm hand. Aunty May did not look at John, but busied herself with Bessy's bib. At first, there was a constrained silence about the table. Aunty May poured tea and gestured reproof to Bobby whose appetite was stronger than his sense of manners. Helen served and commented indifferently on the storm.
