“Isn’t he just as horrid as can be?” raged Frances, inwardly. “He believes just because some women think him clever, and because men like him, and because he’s a good business man, and because mama’s always praising him to his face, as she would any one who was papa’s partner, that he is perfect. And no matter how you try to snub him, he is so conceited that he won’t see it. Horrid old thing!” Aloud she asked, “What are you thinking about?” Mr. Potter laughed. “That’s a great secret,” he asserted. ⁂ An hour later, Mr. Potter was seated in a library, smoking, with a glass of seltzer—and something else—at his elbow. Opposite to him sat a man of perhaps twice his years, equally equipped with a cigar and seltzer—and something else. “Well,” remarked the senior, “I think if we can get the whole issue at 82½ and place them at 87 and accrued interest, we had better do it.” “That’s settled then,” agreed Mr. Potter. “Now, is there anything else? I don’t want to have cablegrams following me, since I’m going for a rest.” “No,” replied the other. “I know I shall want my partner’s advice often enough, but I’ll get on without you. Take a rest. You can afford it. There’s nothing else.” “Then if you are through with business, I want to speak to you of Frances,” said Mr. Potter. Mr. De Witt turned and looked at Mr. Potter quickly. “What about?” “Do you know that that girl’s grown up, and we none of us have realised it?” “Well?” “And do you know that she has seen next to no people,—that her morning ride, her studies, and her afternoon drive with her mother are the only events of her day?” “Well?” “And that her summers, off in that solitary country house of yours, with never a bit of company but Freddy De Witt and myself, are horribly dull and monotonous?” “Well?” “And that to kill time she reads a great many more novels than is good for any one?” “Come, come, Champney, what are you driving at?” “One more question. Mrs. De Witt and you are dining out almost nightly. What do you suppose Frances does evenings?” “Does? Plays a bit, and reads a bit, and goes to bed like a good child.” “But I tell you she isn’t a child any longer, so you can’t expect her to behave like one. It dawned upon me this evening, and the quicker it dawns upon you the better.” “Why?” “Do you want her to make a fool of herself over Freddy?” “Freddy!” “Yes, Freddy.” “Ridiculous! Impossible!” “Because they are a long way towards it, and if you want to end it, you’ll have to use drastic measures.” “Her own cousin, and only eighteen! I never heard of such folly.” “But I tell you those two think they are in love with each other, and if you don’t do something, they’ll really become so before long. Thinking a thing is two-thirds of the way to doing it, as is shown by the mind cure.” “I’ll put an end to it at once,” growled Mr. De Witt. “Never heard of such nonsense.” “And how will you end it?” inquired Mr. Potter, smiling a little.