"Why do you want to know?" she demanded. "What concern is it of yours?"
"I want to see her on important business," he said doggedly.
Mrs. Parkes held up her finger warningly.
"Now, Harry—don't make a fool of yourself. Remember—this Miss Marsh is a boarder—under my roof. She seems a nice girl—even if she does owe me three weeks' rent. But she's nothing for you to waste your time on."
Harry held up his hand in protest.
"Mother," he cried. "I'm thirty years old—I'm earning fifteen hundred a year as assistant draughtsman in the office of the biggest firm of architects in New York City. I'm a free, separate entity, an independent individual, a somebody, and I warn you—if you try to pick out my company for me—as you did for my father, you'll lose me as you did him. You'll not only be a grass widow, but a grass mother. I want to see Miss Marsh because—well, I want to see her——"
"She owes me three weeks' board," repeated Mrs. Parkes doggedly.
"What of it?" he laughed. "I don't want to see her about that."
"I don't trust a girl who owes me three weeks' lodging——"
"You do trust her, or she wouldn't owe you. You trust her because she's a lady, because you like her—yes, you do! She's in trouble, mother—and you're never hard on anyone that's in trouble, you dear old bundle of inconsistencies!"