“I--I'm afraid we can't wait long. You see, there's another thing, Hosy. She needs clothes and--and lots of things. She realizes it. Yesterday she told me she must go up to London, shopping, pretty soon. She asked me to go with her. I put her off; said I was awful busy around the house just now, but she'll ask me again, and if I don't go she'll go by herself.” “Humph! I don't see how she can do much shopping. She hasn't a penny, so far as I know.” “You don't understand. She thinks she has got a good many pennies, or we've got 'em for her. She's just as liable to buy all creation and send us the bills.” I whistled. “Well,” I said, decidedly, “when that happens we must put our foot down. Neither you nor I are millionaires, Hephzy, and she must understand that regardless of consequences.” “You mean you'll tell her--everything?” “I shall have to. Why do you look at me like that? Are we to use common-sense or aren't we? Are we in a position to adopt a young woman of expensive tastes--actually adopt her? And not only that, but give her carte blanche--let her buy whatever she pleases and charge it to us?” “I suppose not. But--” “But what?” “Well, I--I don't see how we can stop her buying whatever she pleases with what she thinks is her own money.” “I do. We can tell her she has no money. I shall do it. My mind is made up.” Hephzy said nothing, but her expression was one of doubt. I stalked off in a bad temper. Discussions of the kind always ended in just this way. However, I swore a solemn oath to keep my word this time. There were limits and they had been reached. Besides, as I had said, the situation was changed in one way; we no longer had an invalid to deal with. No, my mind was made up. True, this was at least the tenth time I had made it up, but this time I meant it. The test came two days later and was the result of a call on the Samsons. The Samsons lived at Burgleston Bogs, and we drove to their house in the trap behind “Pet,” the plump black horse. Mrs. Samson seemed very glad to see us, urged us to remain for tea, and invited us to attend a tennis tournament on their lawn the following week. She asked if Miss Morley played tennis. Frances said she had played, but not recently. She intended to practice, however, and would be delighted to witness the tournament, although, of course, she could not take part in it. “Hosy--Mr. Knowles, I mean--plays tennis,” observed Hephzy, seizing the opportunity, as usual, to speak a good word for me. “He used to play real well.” “Really!” exclaimed Mrs. Samson, “how interesting. If we had only known. No doubt Mr. Knowles would have liked to enter. I'm so sorry.” I hastened to protest. “My tennis is decidedly rusty,” I said. “I shouldn't think of displaying it in public. In fact, I don't play at all now.”