Ben watched her repressed emotion.
"Now you examine, Mother," he said gently. "Take your New England magnifying-glass along, and when she will see you, put her to the test."
"When she will see me? What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Barry quickly.
"Well"—Ben shrugged his shoulders—"we'll see. How much she was hurt, how long it will last, I don't know, of course. You can try."
"Try!" repeated the queen of Keefe, her handsome face coloring faintly above her white silken gown.
"Yes. Miss Upton will be a good go-between, when she is placated. You saw the partisan in her."
Of course, it was all very absurd, as Mrs. Barry told herself when they arose from the table; but there was no denying that her throne was tottering. Her boy was no longer all hers. Bitter, bitter discovery for most mothers to make even when the rival is not Miss Nobody from Nowhere.
The next morning betimes Ben presented himself at the Emporium. He drove up in his roadster and rushed in upon Miss Upton with an arm full of apple blossoms.
"How is she?" he inquired eagerly.
"Hush, hush! I think she's goin' to sleep again. She's had her breakfast."