“End it? Tell them to stop their foolishness. Send him about his business.” “I thought that would probably be your way. Don’t you think it would be better to get an injunction from the courts?” “What good would an injunction do?” asked Mr. De Witt, crossly. “Just as much good as your method. You can no more stop boys’ and girls’ love by calling it foolishness than the courts can. If you do as you propose, you’ll probably have a runaway match, or some other awful bit of folly.” “Well, what can I do?” “The best thing is to pack your trunks and travel a bit. That will give her something else to think about, and she’ll forget all about the little chap.” “But I can’t leave the business.” “The business will run itself. Or, if it won’t, what’s a year’s profits compared to your only daughter’s life happiness?” “But the bonds?” “Don’t bid on them.” “I can’t go. I can’t leave my business. Why, I haven’t been away from it for more than a week in forty years.” “All the more reason for going now.” “I have it. Her mother and she shall sail with you.” “Oh, get out!” ejaculated Champney, “I’m going for a rest.” Mr. Potter had been the slave for many years of two selfish sisters and a whining mother,—a mother who loved to whine,—and womankind meant to him an absolute and entire nuisance. “That’s it,” said the senior partner, regardless of this protest. “You arrange to stay for six months instead of two. I’ll do your work gladly.” “I can’t,” groaned Potter. “Come, Champney,” wheedled the elder, “you say yourself that my little girl’s life happiness depends on her going. For my sake! Come! I did a good turn for you—or at least you’ve always said I did—in the partnership. Now do one for me.” Potter sighed. He was used to being martyrised where women were concerned and had not learned how to resist. “Well, if you say so. But I’ll have to leave them there. Two months is my limit.” “All right,” assented the senior, gleefully. “Perhaps,” thought Potter, “perhaps they won’t be able to pack in time.” And the idea seemed to please him. For half an hour longer they chatted, and then Potter rose. “Tell me, Champney,” inquired the senior, “how did you find out about it?” “Oh,” laughed Champney, “that’s telling.” ⁂ The next day there was woe in Israel. Mr. De Witt was cross over the “children’s folly,” as he called it. Mrs. De Witt was deeply insulted at such sudden and peremptory marching orders. “Men are so thoughtless,” she groaned; “as if one could be ready to go on a day’s notice!” Champney was blue over the spoiling of his trip. Freddy, when he heard the news, was the picture of helplessness and misery, and only added to the friction by coming round and getting in everybody’s way, in the rush of the packing. As for Frances, she dropped many a secret tear into the trunks as her belongings were bestowed therein. Never, it seemed to her, had true love been so crossed.