Nevertheless, in the end, he agreed that Muriel should pass the present winter under his hospitable roof ("Though, further than that," he mentally vowed, "I'll be damned if I endure"). So, Muriel had, without too much effort on her guardians' part, been taken about with them on numerous occasions lately, most recently to the Metropolitan, where Stainton had met her. It was on the morning after this meeting that, with commendable promptness, but at a deplorably early hour--to be exact, at eleven o'clock--Stainton called at the Newberrys'. His card was presented to Mrs. Newberry through the crack of the door while that good lady was in her bath. Ethel, who was big, blonde, and bovine, struggled into the nearest dressing-gown and hurried to the breakfast-room, where her husband, over a newspaper, was engaged in his matutinal occupation of scolding the coffee. Her face a tragic mask, Mrs. Newberry placed the offending pasteboard by Preston's plate. "Preston," said she. "Look at that. _Look_ at it!" Newberry appeared shorter and thinner than ever as he sat crumpled over the newspaper, his grey moustache short and thin and his head covered by grey hair, short and thin and worn in a bang. He obeyed his wife's request. He expressed no surprise. "Looks like somebody's card," he said. "It is, Preston," wailed his wife. "It is that awful western person's that George Holt would drag to our box--_our_ box--last night." "My dear," said Newberry, "Mr.--er--what's his name?--oh, ah: Stainton;--yes--Mr. Stainton appears to be a man of means. Concerning the rich nothing except good." "But his card, Preston; his card!" "What's the matter with his card?" "He has sent it up--here--at this time of day!" "Hum. Western eccentricity, I suppose. He'll get over all that sort of thing in time." Ethel was hopping heavily from one slippered foot to the other. "He hasn't merely left it," she distractedly explained. "He's here--he's actually in the house." "Well, he's not a burglar, Ethel." "Don't talk so, Preston. I know he's not a burglar. But what does he want here at this hour?" "I suppose he wants to see you." "Now? _What_ can he want to see _me_ about at 11 A.M.?" "If you really want to know, my dear, I think that the best way to satisfy your curiosity is to go down and ask him." "How can I?" She spread wide her arms, the more clearly to bring to her husband's wandering attention the fact that she was not yet by any means dressed to receive callers. "Won't you go?" she pleaded. "Why should I?" asked Newberry. "_I'm_ not in the least curious----This coffee is worse every morning. You really must have Mrs. Dawson discharge Jane." Ethel uttered a mighty sob and fled. She sent word to Stainton that she would be down in five minutes to greet him. After half an hour, she entered the reception room. Not ten minutes later, she rushed again upon her husband, this time in the smoking room, that she called his "study."