"What!" they heard Mr. Goodchild ejaculate. Then the titular owner of the house entered. H. R. politely bowed. "How do you do?" he said, easily. "You are a trifle inopportune. Grace and I were talking over our plans." Mr. Goodchild turned purple and advanced. Grace rose hastily. H. R. meditatively doubled up his right arm, moved his clenched fist up and down, felt his biceps with his left hand, and smiled contentedly. Mr. Goodchild remembered his manners and his years at one and the same time. With his second calm thought he remembered the reporters. He gulped twice and when he spoke it was only a trifle huskily: "Mr. Rutgers, I have no desire to make a scene in my own house." H. R. pleasantly pointed to a fauteuil. "I must ask you--" "Sit down and we'll talk it over quietly. You will find," H. R. assured him, earnestly, "that I am not unreasonable. Have a seat." Mr. Goodchild sat down. H. R. turned to Grace and with one lightning wink managed to convey that everybody obeyed him--excepting one, whose wish was a Federal statute to him. She looked with a new interest at her father. It was, she realized, the eternal conflict between youth and age. Love the prize! _Gratia victrix!_ "I--I--am willing to admit"--Mr. Goodchild nearly choked as the unusual words came from his larynx--"that you have shown--er--great cleverness in your--er--career. But I must say to you--in a kindly way, Mr. Rutgers, in a kindly way, believe me!--that I do not care to have this--er--farce prolonged. If you are after--if there is any reasonable financial consideration that will--er--induce you to desist--I--you--" "You have relapsed," interrupted H. R., amiably, "into the language of a bank president. Suppose you now talk like a millionaire." It was not really a request, but a command. Mr. George G. Goodchild obeyed. "How much?" he said. Grace looked as she felt--shocked. She had not fully regained her normal composure. But this was a man who had kissed her. Was he to be bought off with money? The shame of it overwhelmed her. She listened almost painfully to H. R.'s reply. "I am now," H. R. impassively said to Mr. Goodchild, "waiting for you to talk like a father." Mr. Goodchild stared at him blankly. "Like a father; like a human being," explained H. R. "Grace is no bundle of canceled checks or a lost stock certificate. She is your daughter." "Well?" "Excuse me; I mean she is your own flesh and blood--the best of your flesh and blood, at that. Your wishes cannot be considered where her happiness is at stake. Therefore what you think best is merely your personal opinion and hence of interest to yourself and to nobody else." Mr. Goodchild quickly opened his mouth, but before the sound could come H. R. went on, hurriedly, "Suppose you had set your heart upon her becoming a mathematician. Would that make her one?" "Never!" instantly declared the non-mathematical Grace.