take tangible form. Deb understood, and was warned to be circumspect.

"And this is our boy--grown out of knowledge, eh?"

Mary stepped swiftly aside to let Robert come forward, and there was no
mistaking the sentiments held in common by the parents with regard to
their son. Their two faces were mirrors for each other, suffused with
the same tender pride.

"Perhaps the child has reconciled her to the rest of it," Deb hazarded
a hope. "She may be happy."

For Mary smiled and moved alertly about the room. She accepted her
husband's ostentatious hand and chair, and when he resumed the
conversation, or rather restarted it, on the subject of Robert's
achievements at school, she followed where he led, so long as he did
not seem leading towards Deb's pocket, backing him up in the most
wifely manner. "Can it be possible?" Deb kept asking herself, glad at
heart to see such signs, which yet lessened her pity for and interest
in her sister. But Mary, with all the pride of the Pennycuicks in her,
was not, one to "let on". Her skeleton was locked tight in the
cupboard it belonged to when visitors were about--especially such a
visitor as this--and also when they were not about, so far as she
could have it so.

So that a sort of air of entertaining "company" pervaded the room. Deb
felt a constraint with her sister, and that she was making no way with
her mission. But Robert stepped into the breach. With Mary's son the
impulsive lady of Redford was unexpectedly pleased. There was not a
trace of Pennycuick to be discerned in him; nevertheless, he was a