“No, no, not Maude,” persisted Bennington, still more bashfully.  “I mean Miss Lawton, the young lady.”

He felt that both the youths were looking keenly at him with dawning wonder and delight.  “Hold on, Bert,” interposed James, as the other was about to exclaim, “do you mean, Ben, the one you’ve been giving such a rush for the last two months?”

“Miss Lawton and I are very good friends,” replied Bennington with dignity, wondering whence James had his information.

Bert drew in his breath sharply, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Hold on, Bert,” interposed James again.  “There are possibilities in this.  Don’t destroy artistic development by undue haste.  What did you call the young lady, Ben?”

“Miss Lawton, of course!”

“Daughter of Bill Lawton?”

“Why, yes.”

“Oh, my eye!” ejaculated James.

“And you have eyes in your head!” he cried after a moment.  “You have ears in your head!  Blamed if you haven’t everything in your head but brains!  She’s a good one!  I didn’t appreciate the subtlety of that woman before.  Ben, you everlasting idiot, do you mean to tell me that you’ve seen that girl every day for the last two months, and don’t know yet that she’s too good to belong to Bill Lawton?”

Bert began to laugh hysterically.

“What do you mean!” cried Bennington.

“What I say. She isn’t Bill Lawton’s daughter.  Her name isn’t Lawton at all.  O glory!  He don’t even know her name!” James in his turn went into a fit of laughing.  In uncontrollable excitement Bennington seized him with his sound hand.

“What is it?  Tell me!  What is her name, then?”

“O Lord!  Don’t squeeze so!  I’ll tell you!  Letup!”

James dashed the back of his hand across his eyes.

“What is her name?” repeated Bennington fiercely.

“Wilhelmina Fay.  We call her Bill for short.”

“And Jim Fay?”

“Is her brother.”

“And the Lawtons?”

“They board there.”

Across Bennington’s mind flashed vaguely a suspicion that turned him faint with mortification.

“Who is this Jim Fay?” he asked.

“He’s Jim Fay—­James Leicester Fay, of Boston.”

“Not——­”

“Yes, exactly.  The Boston Fays.”

Bert swung himself into the saddle.  “Better not say anything to Bill about the young ’un’s shoulder,” called after him the ever-thoughtful James.

CHAPTER XX

MASKS OFF

Now that it was all explained, it seemed to Bennington de Laney to be ridiculously simple.  He wondered how he could have been so blind.  For the moment, however, all other emotions were swallowed up in intense mortification over the density he had displayed, and the ridiculous light in which he must have appeared to all the actors in the comedy.  His companion perceived this, and kindly hastened to relieve it.