From the psychological side of it, however, nothing could well have been more complicated.

George had not forgotten his reception by the Ludlows that day of his ever-to-be-remembered visit of inspection--the cold, satirical eyes of Grandmother, the freezing courtesy of Grandfather, and the silent, eloquent resentment of the girl who saw herself on the verge of desertion by the one person who made life worth living in intermittent spots.

He was nervous and overanxious to appear to advantage.

The young thoroughbred at the head of the table who had given him a swift all-embracing look, an enigmatical smile and a light laughing question as to whether he would like to be called "Father, papa, Uncle George or what" awed him.

He couldn't help feeling like a clumsy piece of modern pottery in the presence of an exquisite specimen of porcelain.