"I know where he goes," said Dr. Lowell placidly.
"You do? He tells you?"
"Oh, Jim and I are great friends. He's all right, Mary.... But you must realize—Jim's almost a man, and he's a strapping healthy fellow—you can't hold too tight a rein on him, if you do he'll kick over the traces."
Mary frowned, looked sullen. "I think I ought to know what he's doing."
"Well, I'd just as soon tell you, but you'd very likely make a row and it would be bad for Jim.... Use your imagination, Mary."
She pushed back her chair, rose and walked to the window. Dr. Lowell cast a shrewd glance at her and took a piece of custard pie.
"I think you ought to be proud of your output, Mary—you ought to be a proud and happy woman."
"What, Father?"
"Those three boys—fine fellows, all of them. What more d'ye want? And you haven't spoiled them by petting. They think a lot of you. And you haven't nagged them—not very much."
Mary turned around. "Then you think—really—?"