returned his look with one of her clear glances, and the group having
presently broken up again, Mrs. Peyton saw that she had drifted to Darrow's
side. The visitors at length wandered back to the work-room to see a
portfolio of Dick's water-colours; but Mrs. Peyton remained seated behind
the urn, listening to the interchange of talk through the open door while
she tried to coordinate her impressions.

She saw that Miss Verney was sincerely interested in Dick's work: it
was the nature of her interest that remained in doubt. As if to solve
this doubt, the girl presently reappeared alone on the threshold, and
discovering Mrs. Peyton, advanced toward her with a smile.

"Are you tired of hearing us praise Mr. Peyton's things?" she asked,
dropping into a low chair beside her hostess. "Unintelligent admiration
must be a bore to people who know, and Mr. Darrow tells me you are almost
as learned as your son."

Mrs. Peyton returned the smile, but evaded the question. "I should be sorry
to think your admiration unintelligent," she said. "I like to feel that my
boy's work is appreciated by people who understand it."

"Oh, I have the usual smattering," said Miss Verney carelessly. "I
_think_ I know why I admire his work; but then I am sure I see more in
it when some one like Mr. Darrow tells me how remarkable it is."

"Does Mr. Darrow say that?" the mother exclaimed, losing sight of her
object in the rush of maternal pleasure.

"He has said nothing else: it seems to be the only subject which loosens
his tongue. I believe he is more anxious to have your son win the