He loved her upside-down fashion of praise and endearment; never
guessing its Eastern significance--to avert the watchfulness of jealous
gods swift to spy out our dearest treasures, that hinder detachment, and
snatch them from us. "Such a big rude boy--and you tried to kill him
only because he did not understand your queer kind of mother! That you
will find often, Roy; because it is not custom. Everywhere it is the
same. For some kind of people not to be like custom is much worse than
not to be good. And that boy has a mother too much like custom. Not
surprising if he didn't understand."

"I made him though--I did," Roy exulted shamelessly, marvelling at his
father's cleverness, wondering how much he had told. "I hammered hard.
And I'm not sorry a bit. Nor Daddy isn't either."

For answer she gave him a convulsive little squeeze--and felt the
crackle of paper under his shirt. "Something hidden there! What is it,
Sonling?" she asked with laughing eyes: and suddenly shyness overwhelmed
him. For the moment he had forgotten his treasure; and now he was
wondering if he could show it--even to her.

"It is Tara--I think it's rather a secret----" he began.

"But I may see?" Then as he still hesitated, she added with grave
tenderness: "Only if you are wishing it, son of my heart. To-day--you
are a man."

From his father that recognition had been sufficiently uplifting. And
now--from her...! The subtle flattery of it and the deeper prompting of
his own heart demolished his budding attempt at reserve.