“I do not! Dorcas will get over it; I don’t care whether your nephew does or not. I can take care of my child, and that’s all that interests me.” “You think you can,—but perhaps you do not know the depth of their attachment or the strength of their wills.” “It is not for you, an unmarried woman, to instruct me in the ways of young lovers! I repeat, Letitia Prall, I can take care of my daughter. Her welfare in no way concerns you. I am only thankful we discovered this state of things before it is too late. Good Heavens! You don’t suppose it is too late, do you?” “What do you mean?” “You don’t suppose those young idiots are—married!” “Of course not! My Richard is above such clandestine ways!” “Your Richard isn’t above anything! My Dorcas is, but—he might have persuaded her—oh, well, I’ll attend to Dorcas. There is no need for you to tarry longer.” The exaggerated courtesy of her manner goaded Miss Prall to rudeness. “I shall stay as long as I like,” she returned, stubbornly sitting still. “There is more to be said, Adeline Everett. There is more to be done. I want your assurance that you will move away,—it doesn’t suit my plans to leave this house,—and that you will take your forward and designing daughter far enough to keep her from maneuvering to ensnare my nephew.” “I shall be only too glad to take my daughter away from the vicinity of your crack-brained charge! What has Dick Bates ever done? He has never earned a dollar for himself!” “He doesn’t need to. He is a genius; he will yet astonish the world with his inventions. You know me well enough to know that I speak truth. Moreover, he is his uncle’s sole heir!” “Binney, the Bun man!” “Yes, Sir Herbert Binney, proprietor of the famous Binney’s Buns. But, look here, Adeline,” the absorption in her nephew’s interest blotted out for the moment her scorn of the other woman, “Uncle Binney favors the match.” “What match?” Mrs Everett was honestly blank. “Between Richard and Dorcas.” “Why, he doesn’t know Dorcas.” “He has seen her, and anyway, he’d approve of any nice girl that Rick cared for. You see, Sir Herbert wanted the boy to marry and settle down and become the American branch of Binney’s Buns.” “My daughter the wife of a baker! No, thank you! You know me, Letitia Prall, well enough to know my ambitions for Dorcas. She shall marry the man I choose for her,—and he will not be a baker! Nor,” and her face was drawn with sudden anger, “nor will he be Richard Bates!” “Indeed he will not!” and Miss Prall rose and flounced out of the place. In his own small but attractive apartment, Sir Herbert Binney was dressing for dinner. Always a careful dresser, he was unusually particular this evening. His man, Peters, thought he had never seen his master so fussed over the minor details of his apparel. Also, Sir Herbert was preoccupied. Usually he chatted cheerily, but to-night he was thoughtful, almost moody.