It was in Charles's mind that his Uncle Jack would never have dropped a woman who owned twenty bonds that were worth even a dime apiece. He was confident of some trick. Phil's mother had led him into ambush, and was now enjoying his discomfiture. His face reddened with anger. She knew perfectly well that he could not fulfill the commission he had been trapped into undertaking. His pride was stung, and his humiliation was deepened by her perfect tranquillity. Phil's delay had been by connivance, to give time for this encounter. His Uncle Jack had been right: the woman belonged to the Devil's household. His ordeal had lasted only twenty minutes, though it had seemed an hour. Phil's tardiness was due to the fact that she had returned from a tea just as dinner was announced, and she had gone to the table without changing her gown. She had, of course, no idea of what had occurred when she appeared before them, and met with her habitual cheeriness her mother's chaffing rebuke for her dallying. "Sorry! But it's only eight, and the lecturer dined with Mrs. King, who never hurries. Hope you two haven't bored each other!" She thrust out her white-sheathed arm for her mother's help with the buttons. Charles, still smarting, drew on his gloves with an effort at composure. His good looks were emphasized by his evening clothes, and a glimpse he caught of himself in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantel was reassuring. He picked up the wrap Phil had flung on the chair, and laid it over her shoulders, while Lois stood by, her finger-tips resting on the back of a chair. If she lacked in the essential qualities of a lady, he at least could be a gentleman; and when he had donned his overcoat, he bowed over her hand, with his best imitation of the ambassadorial elegance which the Honorable Stewart King (son of Mrs. John Newman King) had brought back to Montgomery from the Belgian Court. "I'm glad to have had this opportunity, Mrs. Holton." "Not a word to Phil!" The slightest inclination of her head, a compression of the lips, the lifting of her brows, suggested that the most prodigious secrets had been discussed. She was quite equal to rubbing salt in the wounds she inflicted! He was in no mood for a discussion of sunshine and shadow; the lecture would be a bore, but he would have an hour and a half in which to plan revenge upon Mrs. Holton. As the carriage rattled toward Masonic Hall, Phil talked gayly of the afternoon's tea.