"But I thought you and Leo were--"

"No, no. I'd rather go with you and mamma, Louis."

Even her mother had smiled rather strainedly. Louis' invitation,
politely uttered, had said so plainly, "Are we two never to be alone,
your mother and I?"

Oh, there was no doubt that Louis Latz was in love and with all the
delayed fervor of first youth.

There was something rather throat-catching about his treatment of her
mother that made Alma want to cry.

He would never tire of marveling, not alone at the wonder of her, but at
the wonder that she was his.

"No man has ever been as lucky in women as I have, Carrie," he told her
once in Alma's hearing. "It seemed to me that after--my little mother
there couldn't ever be another--and now you!"

At the business of sewing some beads on a lamp shade Carrie looked up,
her eyes dewy.

"And I felt that way about one good husband," she said, "and now I see
there could be two."

Alma tiptoed out.