“But I’ve got a lot of work this morning,” Guy protested, with a look in his face that revealed the spirit of the early martyrs. Briggs had taken his seat at the desk and had begun to work again. “Never mind,” he said. “It’ll keep. The drive’ll do you good.” Guy hesitated between pleasure and duty. “Oh, well,” he said, glancing from his employer to his employer’s niece. “You come with us, auntie,” Fanny urged, with an air that made Guy’s coming inevitable. “No, I mustn’t,” Helen replied, decidedly. “I have too much to do this morning.” As Fanny turned to the door Michael entered. “Mr. Burrell’s in the library, sir,” he said to Douglas Briggs. “He didn’t want to disturb you till he was sure you weren’t busy. His wife is with him, and the young ladies.” “Ugh!” cried Fanny, seizing Guy by the arm. “Let’s get out, quick.” Briggs rose. “I’ll go in,” he said, glancing at Helen with resignation in his tone. “They’ll want to see you, too, Helen. I’ll bring them in here.” Mrs. Briggs turned to Michael. “You might bring some of the sherry, Michael. Oh, I forgot--they won’t want anything. Never mind. Mr. Briggs will ring if he wants something for Mr. Burrell. Here they are now.” Helen walked forward and received Mrs. Burrell and the three daughters. Mrs. Burrell was dressed with an elaborate adherence to the fashion of the hour, which had the effect of making conspicuous her extreme angularity. Carrie Cora wore a fantastic gown that betrayed fidelity to the local dressmaker. The two younger girls, however, looked charming in their pretty, tailor-made suits, plainly expressive of New York. “This _is_ nice,” said Helen, offering her hand to Mrs. Burrell. “When did you come to New York?” “Just got here this morning,” Mrs. Burrell replied. “You see we didn’t waste any time coming to see you.” “It’s that confounded old law business again, Mrs. Briggs,” Burrell explained, in his high voice. His spare figure had been almost hidden by his eldest daughter’s ample proportions. “I’ve done my best for you, Mr. Burrell,” Helen explained, smiling. Mrs. Burrell raised her hand in a gesture of despair. “Father does nothing but talk about that case. I declare I’m sick of hearing about it!” Burrell gave Helen a meaning look. “Well, I guess she’d be sicker if I was to lose my patents,” he said, slowly. “I ain’t countin’ on goin’ to the poorhouse yet awhile. You’d think, by the way Mrs. Burrell talks, a little matter of a hundred thousand dollars wasn’t worth fightin’ over.” “Does it mean as much as that to you?” asked Douglas Briggs, astonished. He had never been able to adjust himself to the knowledge that the little Congressman, so out of place in Washington, was a man of wealth and, in his own city, of great importance. “Well, I should think it did, and more, too,” Burrell replied. “If a certain friend of mine was to take the case,” he went on, smiling at Helen and nodding at her husband, “it would be worth a retainin’ fee of five thousand dollars.”