with a bow of burlesque modesty.

It went to Mrs. Pasmer's heart. "Let's hope he'll never forget that," she
said, in an enjoyment of the excitement and the salad that was beginning
to leave her question of these Maverings a light, diaphanous cloud on the
verge of the horizon.

The elder Mavering had been trying, without success, to think of
something to say to Miss Pasmer, he had twice cleared his throat for that
purpose. But this comedy between his son and the young lady's mother
seemed so much lighter and brighter than anything he could have said,
that he said nothing, and looked on with his mouth set in its queer
smile, while the girl listened with the gravity of a daughter who sees
that her mother is losing her head. Mrs. Pasmer buzzed on in her badinage
with the young man, and allowed him to go for a cup of coffee before she
rose from her chair, and shook out her skirts with an air of pleasant
expectation of whatever should come next.

He came back without it. "The coffee urn has dried up here, Mrs. Pasmer.
But you can get some at the other spreads; they'd be inconsolable if you
didn't take something everywhere."

They all started toward the door, but the elder Mavering said, holding
back a little, "Dan, I think I'll go and see--"

"Oh no, you mustn't, father," cried the young man, laying his hand with
caressing entreaty on his father's coat sleeve. "I don't want you to go
anywhere till you've seen Professor Saintsbury. We shall be sure to meet
him at some of the spreads. I want you to have that talk with him--" He
corrected himself for the instant's deflection from the interests of his