was somewhat tumbled about from the tennis; his fine, strong young
throat showed brown where the loose collar turned back. Even in
his flat tennis shoes he stood a clear two inches above Miss
Field, although she was not a small woman by any means. He was a
joyous, irresponsible boy, and he and his mother's secretary had
always been good friends since the day, four years ago now, when
the silent, somewhat grave Harriet Field had first made her
appearance in the family. Ward was so much a child in those days
that Harriet used to go with him to pick out suits and shirts, and
to buy matinee seats for him and his school friends, and they
laughed now to remember his favourite and invariable luncheon
order of potato salad and French pastries. Nina had had a nurse
then, and Harriet practised French with both the boy and girl, but
now the nurse was gone, and Ward could buy his own clothes, and
Nina went to a finishing school. So Miss Field had made herself
useful in new ways; she was quite indispensable now. The young
people loved her; Richard Carter occasionally said to his wife,
"Very clever--very pretty girl!" which was perhaps as close as he
ever got to any domestic matter, and Isabelle confided to her
almost all her duties and cares. She patronized Harriet prettily,
and told her that she was too pretty to be getting up to the
thirties without a fiance, but Harriet only smiled her inscrutable
smile, and made no confidences on the subject of admirers. Nina,
insatiably curious, had gathered no more than that Miss Harriet's
father had been a college professor of languages, and that her
only relative was a married sister, much older, who had four
children, and lived in New Jersey.

She was a master of the art of keeping silent, this young woman,
and but for her beauty she might have been as inconspicuous as she