Betty Harris looked down, stroking her mother's sleeve. A little smile
of memory held her lips. "He was a beautiful man!" she said.

The mother waited, breathless.

"I was walking home, and I came to his shop--"

"To his shop!"

She nodded reassuringly. "His fruit-shop--and--oh, I forgot--" She
reached into the little bag at her side, tugging at something. "He gave
me these." She produced the round box and took off the lid, looking into
it with pleased eyes. "Aren't they beautiful?"

The mother bent blindly to it. "Pomegranates," she said. Her lips were
still a little white, but they smiled bravely with the child's pleasure.

"Pomegranates," said Betty, nodding. "That is what he called them. I
should like to taste one--" She was looking at them a little wistfully.

"We will have them for luncheon," said the mother. She had touched the
bell with quick decision.

"Marie"--she held out the box--"tell Nesmer to serve these with
luncheon."

"Am I to have luncheon with you, mother-dear?" The child's eyes were on
her mother's face.

"With me--yes." The reply was prompt--if a little tremulous.