A frightened look leaped into the girl's eyes. He was so vehement, so
passionate, so powerful, that at times she felt how inferior in
temperment she was to him. Her heart swelled with gratitude when she
realized that he belonged to her and to her alone. How good God had
been! And every day in the solitude of her chamber she had thanked the
Giver of every gift for this perfect man--since he was perfect to her.
In a few moments she rose and walked beside him, longing to enter into
the hidden ambitions of his heart, to read his innermost thoughts.
Everett appreciated her feeling. Again he passed his arm around her, and
for a time they paced to and fro, each thankful for the love that had
become the chief thing in life.

"I have an idea, Ann," began Everett presently, "that my mother will
know me by the scar on me here." He raised his fingers to his shoulder
and drew them slowly downward as he continued. "And I know that she is
some wild, beautiful thing different from any other woman living. And
I've pictured my father in my mind's eyes a million times, since I have
found out I am not really Everett Brimbecomb."

"But Mr. and Mrs. Brimbecomb have done everything for you--"

"So they have," broke in Everett; "but a chap wants to know his own
flesh and blood, and, since Mother told me that I was not her own son,
I've looked into the face of every woman I've seen and wondered if my
own mother was like her. I don't want to seem ungrateful; but if they
would only tell me more I could rest easier." A painful pucker settled
between his brows.

"Sit down here, Everett," Ann urged, "and tell me if you have ever tried