Rivett senior regarded him in angry amazement, for a second only; then the grim mask of a face resumed its weasel-eyed and expressionless immobility. "Babies have to go through teething, too," he observed. Jack said pleasantly: "Wouldn’t you rather I came to you and told you about it?" "Yes; a boy is all right who tells his parents. Who is the girl?" "Silvette." An unaccustomed color dyed Mr. Rivett’s pallid temples. "Oh! Have you informed her?" "Yes." Rivett’s teeth met under the walrus mustache, parted, met, and ground together; but his son saw only the jaw muscles move slightly in the lean face. "Silvette is a—an interesting young girl," said Rivett with an effort; "but she is one of my employees, and not the sort of woman I wish my son to marry." "So she says," observed Jack quietly. "_Who_ says _what_?" "Silvette said exactly what you have just said—that she is your employee, and her sense of honor will not permit her to listen to me." "Oh! ... She said that, did she? ... Oh! ... Did she tell you to tell me her answer?" "No; she told me that if I uttered one word on the subject to you, she would leave your service in twenty-four hours." His father’s eyes fairly bored into him like augers. "And yet you’ve done it?" "I’ve taken the chance—yes." "Why?" "Because I love her." "You’ll have that kind of pip several times before you pick the right one, Jack." "No; I’m like you." "What’s that?" "I say that I am like you, dad.... I don’t believe there was ever anybody but mother. Was there?" "How about that little Beaumont girl you met at Hot Springs?" asked his father. "I taught her to shoot a pistol. I liked her, but that was all. Silvette is different." Somehow, the memory of a girl he had once taught came into Mr. Rivett’s mind—Betty Lawrence—who smiled as nobody else ever had smiled except her own son—years afterwards—years and years afterwards. He raised his sunken head and looked hard at his son. "I don’t want you to marry her, Jack," he said. "Why?" "I had other plans for you. There are girls in New York who——" "There are girls everywhere, but only one Silvette Tennant; and I am like you, father." "You don’t show it now," retorted Rivett sharply. "Do you think I’d spoil my chances—no, my certainty in New York, as you are trying to do?" "You only got as far as Mills Corners, dad; and you had not even seen New York." "I don’t want you to marry her," repeated his father doggedly. "Why?—once more." "Because—I don’t know anything about her. She gambles, too!" "Would you care whether the girl you meant to pick out for me plays cards for stakes?" "I certainly—" He stopped abruptly, then: "She smokes and drinks like a man!" "Get some woman to ask you to dine with her at the Convent Club some evening," said Jack, smiling. "Who is Silvette Tennant, anyway?" demanded his father. "You ought to know something about the Tennants, dad. You reorganized their firm."