"Thanks," said Ellery briefly, and their eyes met in that interchange of
assurance which is the masculine American equivalent for embrace and
eternal protestation. Mrs. Percival smiled to herself, amused yet
pleased by the frank boyish affection.
"What kind of a time did you have at Mr. Early's reception?" she asked
abruptly.
"Oh, it was a circus with three rings. In the middle ring there was a
performing hippopotamus of a Hindu. He was really a sunburst. Then in
the farthest ring there were a thousand women with big hats, all talking
at once. But in the nearest there were just Madeline and Mrs. Lenox, and
that was a good show. By Jove! Madeline is prettier than ever, and
hasn't found it out yet. That's the advantage of sending a girl off to a
women's college where there is no man to enlighten her."
"Pretty! That's not the word to describe Miss Elton. She's too simple
and dignified," remonstrated Norris.
"Bowled over already, are you?" Dick jeered.
"Ellery is quite right," Mrs. Percival interrupted. "Madeline has
something Easter-lily-like about her."
"You grow enthusiastic, mother."
"I love her very dearly, Dick."
"Norris and I are going out to see her to-morrow. We'll take the motor, I
guess."
Mrs. Percival beamed down at him and gave his head an affectionate pat,
and the son glanced up with a blandness that might easily have become a
smirk. Yet his mother's complacent satisfaction with the inevitable
irritated him. Madeline Elton might be the most admirable combination
of the virtues and the graces, but he wanted to find it out for himself.
Mrs. Percival rose with the air of one who has heard and said what she
desired.
"Good night, dear boy," she purred as Dick struggled to his long legs.
"How good it is to have you to lean on and trust! These have been lonely
years while you were away. Now I shall leave you two to your quiet
smoke."
Dick kissed her hand and then her lips, as though to show both reverence
and love. Norris, too, stooped and kissed her hand, and the two watched
her as she moved in her slow way up the stairs. As she disappeared,
Norris turned and laid an arm over Dick's shoulder.
"That's the kind of thing, Percival, that you do not wholly appreciate
unless you've gone without it. I grew up without any atmosphere to speak
of, and I've been gasping for breath all my life. I wonder if I shall
ever get a full allowance of air to live in."
As they looked, friendly eye into friendly eye, Ellery seemed to review
his own life in contrast with Dick's. Dick had background; he had to
begin everything for himself. He had earned most of his way through
college; he had earned his standing among the men as he had earned his
standing in scholarship, by dogged persistence instead of by the right
of eminent domain to which Dick was born. He had never envied Percival's
readier brain, wider popularity, more profuse fortune; but something
close to envy crept upon him now for this refinement of home, this
delicate mother-love. This was a loss not to be made good by pluck or
perseverance. Love was the gift of the gods.