Joan looked after him for a moment, her eyes disturbed, unhappy; then she smiled a tender little smile, as a mother smiles at a wayward boy, and turned into the house.

At the corner, Wint looked back. She was gone. He went on toward his own home, Muldoon at his heels, in a hot surge of rebellion. Halfway home, he asked himself what it was that made him rebellious, angry; and when he could find no reasonable answer to this question, he became more angry than ever. He was angry at himself; but he convinced himself that he was angry at others....

Winthrop Chase, Senior, had built a home for himself a dozen years before, in the first rush of great wealth from the furnace. It was a monumental house, of red, pressed brick, with a slate roof and a fence of iron pickets around the yard. It had been, when he built it, the finest house in town. Now, however, its supremacy was challenged by a dozen others, and the elder Chase had half decided to tear it down and build another that would defy competition. Mrs. Chase opposed this, gently and half-heartedly. She thought they were very comfortable.

But it was a losing fight, and she knew it. Her husband was accustomed to have his way. He would have it in the end.

Wint pushed open the iron gate--it dragged on its hinges so that it had worn a deep groove in the stone paving that led to the porch--and closed it behind him, and went up to the door. He opened it and went in; and in the dim light of the hall he encountered a girl. For an instant, he failed to recognize her; then:

"Why, hello--Hetty," he said.

"Hello, Wint."

"What are you doing here?" He dropped his hat on the hall bench.

"I've come to work for your mother." She hesitated. "Supper's ready. They're sitting down."

"Oh!" He looked at Hetty again. They had been schoolmates. Her seat had been just in front of his one year. He remembered, with sudden vividness, the day he stuck chewing gum in her hair. Her hair was red; a pleasant, dark red; and it was very luxuriant. "Oh--all right," he said, and went into the dining room. His father and mother were at the table.

"I see you've got a girl, mother," he said.

"Yes--I've got Hetty Morfee." Mrs. Chase sighed. "I've had the most awful time, Wint. I do hope she stays. Girls are terrible hard to get, in 

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