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writhing point. "Mothers" was a vituperative term in Bones' diction; it included all maternal ancestors above ground except his own, and preceded the phrase "cramp my style" as inevitably as, in gastronomic diction, "bread" precedes "and butter."

Wherefore the news that his roommate's mother, whom he had never met, was even now ensconced in his room and awaiting him, became as a light but provoking blow of misfortune. "The devil she is!" he said, and betook himself thither with sighs.

His initial thought was that there had been a mistake, This daintily shapely person standing alone in the room with her back toward him could be no mother. Why, this was a girl! . . . Then she faced about and he saw that she was not a girl but that she must have been one very recently. People often had that feeling about Mrs. Hamill.

"Hello, Bones," she said. "For of course that's who you are."

"How-d'y'-do. Awfully glad."

They shook hands. Mrs. Hamill sank down on the window-seat and opened the platinum cigarette case monogrammed in sapphires that hung from a chain on her arm, extending it invitingly. Bones accepted one. His peace of mind was returning.

"I've just been looking at her." Mrs. Hamill waved her cigarette toward the pictured Yvonne. "Isn't she simply magnificent?"

Bones said she was.

"Don't you think I'm fortunate to be acquiring such a decorative daughter-in-law?"

Bones did think so.

Mrs. Hamill blew an amazing cloud of smoke from a mouth like a scarlet letter O and asked, "Have you seen the original?"