“I beg your pardon,” he said politely, as Mr. Copley got out of the trolley and crossed the street in front of him. “Could you tell me if there is a family by the name of Copley about here? I seem to have mislaid the address, but my memory of it is that they live somewhere along this block or the next.” “Copley’s my name, sir,” said Mr. Copley with his genial smile. “What can I do for you?” “Glad to meet you, Mr. Copley,” said Maxwell cordially. “I’ve had no end of a time finding your house. Thought I could go directly to it, but find my memory wasn’t so good as I banked on. I must have left the address at home, after all. I’ve a box here to deliver to your daughter. You have a daughter, haven’t you?” “Why, yes, two of them,” said the father, smiling. He liked this pleasant young man with the handsome smile and the expensive car, asking after his daughter. This was his idea of the kind of friends he would like his daughters to have if he had the choosing. “I guess you mean Cornelia. I suppose you’re somebody she met at college.” “No, nothing so good as that. I can’t really claim anything but a second-hand acquaintance. It was my mother who met her on a journey to Philadelphia some months ago. Mother quite fell in love with her, I believe; and she’s sent her some ferns, which she asked me to deliver. Suppose you get in, and I’ll take you the rest of the way. Is it in this block?” Mr. Copley swung his long limbs into the seat beside the young man. “No, the next block, middle of the block, just at the top of the hill, right-hand side,” he said. “I remember Cornie speaking of your mother. She was very kind, and Cornie enjoyed her. It certainly is good of her to remember my little girl. Ferns!” He looked back at the box. “She certainly will like those. She’s a great one for fixing up the house, and putting flowers about and growing things. She’ll be pleased to see you. Here’s the house, the one with the stone chimney. Yes, that’s new, my son built it since Cornie came home. She wanted a fireplace. Now you’ll come right in. Cornie ’ll want to thank you.” “Thank you,” said the young man, lifting out the heavy box. “That won’t be necessary. She can thank mother sometime when she sees her. I’ll just put the box here on the porch, shall I?—and not detain your daughter. I really ought to be getting along. I haven’t had my dinner yet.” “Oh, then you’ll come right in and take dinner with us. The young people will be delighted to have you, I know. Cornie said they were going to have a company supper tonight because it’s my son’s birthday, twenty-one. I’d like you to meet my son; that is, I’d like him to know you, you know”; and the father smiled a confiding smile. “Oh, but really,” Arthur Maxwell began. But Mr. Copley had a detaining hand upon the young man’s arm.