Absorbed in his newspaper, Whitney did not at first heed her request, but the pulling back of the portieres aroused him, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw Kathleen entering the room. "Good morning, Dad," laying her hand for a second on his shoulder before taking the chair Vincent pulled out. "Just a cup of coffee, mother dear, that is all," and Kathleen unfolded her napkin. "You told me upstairs you would remain in bed, Kathleen." Mrs. Whitney looked solicitously at her. "Are you prudent to tax your strength after all you were subjected to yesterday?" "I couldn't stay still a moment longer." Kathleen's slender, supple fingers played with a piece of toast. "You need not bother to conceal the newspapers, Dad," as Whitney surreptitiously tucked the _Herald_ and the _Post_ behind his back. "I read them up in my room." "My dearest, I'm sorry you did that." Whitney leaned over and clasped her hand tenderly. "I gave orders that...." "Vincent is not to blame," broke in Kathleen. "I borrowed the nurse's newspapers before she left." "There was no sense in your reading all this jargon," protested Whitney warmly. "And there is no need, Kathleen, of paying attention to one word published here. Your friends believe in you absolutely, as we do." "Thank you, Dad." Kathleen returned the strong pressure of his hand, and leaning over, kissed Mrs. Whitney. "Bless both your dear loyal hearts." Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she dashed them impatiently away. "It was better that I should see the papers," she continued a moment later, "and know the world's unbiased opinion." "Unbiased opinion in a newspaper!" Whitney laughed mirthlessly. "That and the millennium will arrive together. Have you everything you want, Kathleen?" "Yes, Dad." "Then you need not wait, Vincent. Now, Minna, what did you ask me a few minutes ago?" "If you will have some hot coffee. Yes? Then send me your cup," and Mrs. Whitney, taking it from Kathleen, poured out the coffee and hot milk. As she returned the cup and saucer, she glanced carefully about the room, but Vincent had departed to the kitchen. Satisfied on that point, she lowered her voice to a confidential pitch. "I hear the servants are planning to leave." "Who cares?" Whitney shrugged his shoulders. "There are better where they came from." "Quite true," agreed Mrs. Whitney. "Then, will you give me their wages ..." "Wages?" Whitney flushed with anger. "No, if the dirty dogs wish to leave us in the lurch without notice, they will not get one cent from me." "They won't leave us," declared Kathleen. "At least, I am sure that Vincent and Rosa will not go. They have been with us too long." "I only know what Henry told me he heard in the kitchen this morning," explained Mrs. Whitney. "Oh, Henry!" exclaimed Kathleen contemptuously. "I wouldn't put any faith in what he says; he is forever making trouble in the kitchen. He is ..." The violent ringing of the telephone bell interrupted her.