"Well, you see, I'm getting—"
"No, you're not! You don't look a day over twenty-five."
"That's right. That's right," said he, blithely. "I am twenty-five, exactly twenty-five; and they're raising my salary right along. What'll it be when I'm fifty?"
"You ought to have a new necktie, John," said his mother, smoothing down the lapel of his coat. "A rising man, like you, my son, must always remember little things."
"That's right," said he. "That's right. You know I'm so careless. The truth is—"
"There you go again, John! Now why are you so particular to tell me that what you are saying to me is the truth? Just as if you ever in your life said anything which wasn't true."
He did not answer, but hurriedly turned away, that the keen eyes might not examine his face too closely. She followed him.
"John," said she, sharply, "tell me, what's the trouble? Tell me the truth."
"I have," said he. The words choked him, and she knew it. He evaded once more the attack of her eyes, but again she followed him, her face now very pale, her lips trembling.
"Boy," said she, "tell me, what is it? Is there a woman? Is there anybody?"