so good. She could imagine another son, a brave, headstrong fellow, coming with his scrapes as a little child to be kissed and pardoned, coming as a boy to confide in her and pray for her forgiveness for a sin, coming as a man to bid her bless some madcap girl and help him tame her. She could feel that woman's arms about her neck even now. . . . She would pretend to chide her, but love all the time her wild fun. 'Give me a girl who can laugh, not one that titters,' she said aloud; she was thinking of James. James had brought a tradesman's daughter to see her yesterday. She was pale and sandy-haired. She had kissed Mrs. Drummond on the cheek, and tittered. It was an ominous titter, the titter of the middle-class woman who is embarrassed, of the woman who cannot laugh, who titters when she is shy, and giggles when amused. It was a sound that told Mrs. Drummond as plain as words that James had proposed, that James had been accepted; but the fact was not yet to be made public property. She kissed the tradesman's daughter a little more warmly, because she understood James would not tell her anything until all was arranged. It was his way, and James was always sure to be right. As a child he had
