"But they have all grown up," Mrs. Richie said. "Mr. Ferguson,
David wants to smoke! What shall I do?"

"Good heavens! hasn't he smoked by this time?" said Robert
Ferguson, horrified. "You'll ruin that boy yet!"

"Oh, when he was a little boy, there was one awful day, when--"
Mrs. Richie shuddered at the remembrance; "but now he wants to
really smoke, you know."

"He's seventeen," Mr. Ferguson said, severely. "I should think
you might cut the apron-strings by this time."

"You seem very anxious about apron-strings for David," she
retorted with some spirit. "I notice you never show any anxiety
about Blair."

At which her landlord laughed loudly: "I should say not! He's
been brought up by a man--practically." Then he added with some
generosity, "But I'm not sure that an apron-string or two might
not have been a good thing for Blair."

Mrs. Richie accepted the amend good-naturedly. "My tall David is
very nice, even if he does want to smoke. But I've lost my boy."

"He'll be a boy," Robert Ferguson said, "until he makes an ass of
himself by falling in love. Then, in one minute, he'll turn into
a man. I--" he paused, and laughed: "I was twenty, just out of
college, when I made an ass of myself over a girl who was as vain
as a peacock. Well, she was beautiful; I admit that."