in the world; would you mind asking your mother if I may? I am afraid
to ask her."

"But not afraid of asking me?" Richard laughed; he had made his
suggestion without any special thought, but the girl might as well be
allowed to bang at their piano if she liked. Should she get it out of
order why it could soon be straightened out again. And then kindness to
persons less fortunate than himself was second nature with Richard
Ashton.

"Here is the mater coming, I will ask her at once," he returned, and
then seeing Esther's unspoken look of entreaty, as he went forward to
open the door for his mother, he silently agreed to postpone his
request.

Mrs. Ashton was a tall, blonde, handsomely dressed woman, who rarely
showed affection for anyone save her husband and children and whose
leisure time was largely devoted to playing bridge. Neither Betty nor
her son looked like her. Richard resembled his father, while Betty must
have inherited her appearance from some more remote ancestor. In one
comer of the parlor hung an oil painting of one of Mr. Ashton's great-
aunts, a young English girl in a white muslin dress and picture hat,
whom Betty always insisted she resembled.

Mrs. Ashton was frowning anxiously.

"Hasn't Betty returned, Dick?" she inquired. "It is an hour since
luncheon and her friends may arrive at any moment. The child was not at
all well yesterday and, I do wonder if her science teacher can be
keeping her in, Miss McMurtry is so inconsiderate. I really don't know