Claire made a fine pretense of choking over her hot chocolate. Anything was better than allowing even so sympathetic a person as Mrs. Larry to see that she was shedding tears over a certain party now speeding in the direction of Kansas City. Mrs. Larry drew her smooth brows together in a frown. “But, Claire, dear, there are women who keep nice little homes on twenty dollars a week.” “Their husbands are not ambitious and coming lawyers. No, dear woman, I recognize my own limitations, and I love Jimmy too well to interfere with his future--to--to wreck his dear life. But it does seem as if mother might have realized that one of us girls might fall in love with some one besides a rich man. She might have taught me something about the value of money and the management of a house.” Mrs. Larry, reaching for her purse, pictured the easy-going, money-spending life of the Pierce household, with its inherited and well invested money and its irresponsible wife and mother. But she said in her cheeriest voice: “Well, my dear Claire, there is always a way out of such a situation, when there’s nothing more serious at stake than the high cost of living. And nothing in the world would shake the loyalty of a man like Jimmy Graves. You see--in his very next letter----” “But there won’t be any next letter----” Claire extended a ringless hand. Mrs. Larry gasped. “Claire Pierce, you didn’t!” “Yes, and what’s more--he--he took it. Of course, I expected him to insist upon my keeping it.” Mrs. Larry was so amazed, so shocked that she almost forgot to leave a tip on the tray for the waitress. She even rose without adjusting her veil. “Let’s go down to the concert hall,” she murmured. “They usually have an organ recital in the afternoon. I can always think better to music.” They threaded their way between the tables and under the broad archway to the foyer connecting the elevators and the smaller dining-room used for afternoon tea. Here they were approached by a well-mannered salesgirl, carrying small announcements, which she offered with an ingratiating smile. “Wouldn’t you like to stop for the lecture this afternoon? It will begin in ten minutes.” Claire and Mrs. Larry accepted the printed announcements mechanically, their gaze fixed on the tea room, which was already half full. On the platform, bustling employees of the store were arranging what looked like an exhibit, bolts of cloth and silk, ready-made garments, shoes, gloves, linens, perfumes. The saleswoman followed their curious glance. “Those are the heads of departments and the buyers. They are going to answer questions after the lecture.” “What’s the subject of the lecture?” inquired Mrs. Larry. The salesgirl actually chuckled and pointed to the card in Mrs. Larry’s hand-- “‘What Do You Do With Father’s Money?’” Other women had gathered round, sensing the unusual.