"Is he—is he angry with her, too?" asked the boy quickly.
"No, dear child," returned Mrs. Lowell, compassion surging through her for this young life which knew so much of anger and so little of anything else.
The noiseless waiters were removing all signs of the luncheon when the door opened and Luther Wrenn entered.
As soon as he had greeted the ladies and Philip had been introduced, his smooth-shaven, keen face at once centered on the boy. Mrs. Lowell, her hand on Bert's arm, guided him to stand.
"This is Herbert Gayne, Mr. Wrenn, and this is your mother's friend, Bertie."
The boy's plaintive, spiritless gaze and the passive hand which the lawyer took bore out all he had heard of him, but Mrs. Lowell's expressive face was courageous and the lawyer sat down beside Herbert Loring's heir determined not to be outdone by her in hopefulness. Of course, he had been painstakingly told every detail concerning the boy which Mrs. Lowell had discovered, and it was a very kindly look with which he regarded his new client as they were seated near together.
"I brought my introduction with me, Herbert," he said, and feeling in a breast-pocket he drew forth the card photograph which had yesterday been put into his hands.
Color streamed over the boy's face when he saw it. "It is—it is like one I lost," he said, and he held it between his hands, studying it.
"You shall have this one, then," said Mr. Wrenn. "I was fond of your mother, Herbert."
"They were angry with her," said the boy, and his lip quivered at some memory.