"Hi, Dad. Back from the grind, I see." Her hair was the color of lemon and in her blue eyes was reflected a youthful zest for life. "Do you like the new dress? It comes in seventeen colors. I bought them all. And hats and shoes and gloves and bags to match." She said, walking as she had seen professional models walk, with arms akimbo and swinging hips. "Very pretty," he said, "but shouldn't there be a little more to it? Style is style, but leave something to the imagination. They can't be using up much fabric with a number like that." "See, Mom. Didn't I tell you exactly what he'd say? Daddy is so mid-century. Aren't you, Darling?" "Glory, at the risk of seeming ... ah ... mid-century, I think you owe your mother and myself some information about this person you've asked to dinner." "What kind of information? You've met him," she said. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, I've met him. What is his background? What does he work at? What kind of a consumer is he?" "Dad, you are not being fair." "Not fair? Why not? Are you ashamed of him?" "No, I'm not ashamed of him. Ernie is a dear sweet boy. He lost both of his parents when he was very young. Bringing himself up has made him different from most people, I guess. But he has done very well. And all by himself, too. He's an OE, you know." This only added heat to J.L.'s burning suspicion. "I don't want to sound narrow minded, Glory, but I've met a good many Opinion Engineers in business and darned few of them are fit company for a young girl. They picture themselves as independent thinkers. They don't spend their money as they should." Glory's lips whitened as she pressed them together. J.L. saw the gathering storm in her eyes. "That's not fair," she said. "Ernie is perfectly all right. He just needs looking after. Mother, help me." Marge smiled calmly, and said, "Your father is just acting like a father, that's all. He is trying to protect you." "Well, I'm twenty years old, almost. And it's practically the twenty-first century, but it looks like the middle ages around here. I'm sorry I asked him to come. I'll never ask anyone again." She threw her head back and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Now don't start getting dramatic. I only want what's best for you, J.L. said. But it was only bluff. He knew when he was licked. "All right, all right," he said, trying to prevent her tears from brimming over. "I promise to be good tonight." It was time for him to retreat, as gracefully as possible, to his study and the latest issue of _Consumer's Guide_. Which he did. * * * * * At a quarter of seven J.L. tottered into his living room. He was fully dressed except for a bright red sash hanging slack, like a sail in the doldrums, just brushing the tops of his patent leather shoes.