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“Come here, dear,” said his aunt. “Promise me not to mention us to your father. We aren’t going in, and it’s—it’s so hard to explain why we aren’t.”

Neville Day and Miss Jane Day got out of the car and walked slowly along the edge of the road together. His aunt asked Mauney to get in the rear seat and sit beside her. As she turned toward him, he could see his mother’s likeness with startling vividness.

“Your mother used to write to me about you, Mauney,” she said. “You were her favorite, I’m glad you’re such a big fellow. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“It’s terrible how the time goes. I suppose you’re happy and well all the time—”

He gauged the expression in her eyes. He felt completely at home with her. She looked so much like his mother that he wanted to remain with her endlessly.

“Well, Aunt Mary,” he said slowly, “I’m not very happy, I’m afraid.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked sympathetically.

“I don’t know.”

“Does your father treat you all right?”

“I think he tries to, Aunt Mary, but since my mother died, I’ve always been—dissatisfied. How long are you going to stay—I mean here?”