Courtland brought them that evening, much against his will. Who was she to have her wretched little belongings sent down to her in a motor-car? He was obliged to assert himself, to proclaim his independence and his superiority. He stood outside the door with his finger on the bell so that it rang in one long, maddening clamour, and he kicked at the door. He made an outrageous noise. Angelica came flying down the hall in a fury, and flung open the door. "What do you mean?" she cried. "Where do you think you are, anyway?" Courtland stared at her for a minute. Then, making an imaginary lorgnette of his thumb and forefinger, he peered through it, bending forward from the waist in a preposterous and unseemly attitude. "Aeoh!" he exclaimed, in a simpering voice. "I beg your pawdon, I’m suah! I forgot myself, really, don’tcher know! If you will kindly permit me to enter this mansion, I will deliver to you this package of jools sent by the dook!" "Give it to me and shut your mouth," said Angelica. "What’s all this?" called Mrs. Kennedy from her bed. "Who is it, Angie?" "Only the chauffeur. He brought some of my things," her daughter answered in a contemptuous tone. There was something about her child’s words and tone that jarred upon Mrs. Kennedy. She came out of the bedroom in her new flannel wrapper, and addressed Courtland with ceremonious politeness. "I’m sure we’re very much obliged to you," she said. "Won’t you step in? Maybe you’d take a cup of tea, and rest a few minutes?" "Rest!" said Angelica. "He never does anything else!" Courtland ignored her. "I don’t care if I do," he said to Mrs. Kennedy, and followed her into the kitchen, where he sat down heavily on the step-ladder chair. "I’m as tired as a dawg," he said, with his invariable air of grievance. "It’s enough to make you sick--driving that woman all over the country. No more consideration, she’s got, than a--than a dawg!" "Well," said Mrs. Kennedy, "I suppose that’s what you’re paid for." "I know it!" he agreed, plaintively. "That’s all right; but then what does she want to be telling me I’m too good to be a chauffeur for? She says there’s lots of fellows in college hasn’t got my brains. And this golf! There she’s got me the bag of clubs that cost Gawd knows what, and she just started showing me the way to use them. She said I was doing fine, and then, all of a sudden, she dropped it, and never said another word about it. I waited. After a while I began putting the bag of clubs in the car, to remind her. No, not a word! So I says to her to-day, ‘What about this here golf?’ And she says, with that grin of hers, ‘Oh, I hawdly think it’s worth while going on. I’m afraid it was a mistake’--and tells me I can sell the clubs!" "What of it?" inquired Mrs. Kennedy. "They’re no good to you. I can’t see any sense in your learning to play golf. I can’t see what you have to complain of."