"You may tell them yourself!" she retorted. "What are they going to live
on?" she pondered "Can his allowance be increased?"

"It can't. You know his father's will. He won't get his money until he's
twenty-five."

"He'll have to go to work," she said; "which means not going back to
college, I suppose?"

"Yes," he said, grimly; "who would support his lady-love while he was in
college? And it means giving up his music," he added.

"If he makes as much out of his renunciation as you have out of yours,"
she said, calmly, "we may bless this poor woman yet."

"Oh, you old humbug," he told her--but he smiled.

Then she repeated to him an old, old formula for peace; "'Consider the
stars,' Henry, and young foolishness will seem very small. Maurice's
elopement won't upset the universe."

They were both silent for a while; then Mary Houghton said, "I'll write
the invitation to them; but you must second it when you answer his
letter."

"Invitation? What invitation?"

"Why, to come and stay at Green Hill until you can find something for
him to do."